Chapter 12
TWELVE
EAMON
I stepped into the crisp night air, grateful for the excuse to clear my head and put some distance between myself and the walking temptation that was Charles Garrity. The man was going to be the death of me—or at least the death of my career, which in celestial terms was pretty much the same thing.
Focus on the job, I told myself as I began my circuit around the property. Do your fecking job and stop thinking about how his lips would taste or how perfectly he’d fit against your chest.
Stop imagining what it would be like to wake up next to him, all sleep-rumpled and warm, or how he’d look spread out beneath me on those crisp white sheets of his.
Stop wondering if he’d make those soft little sounds I’d heard him humming while he cooked, or if he’d be as generous and enthusiastic in bed as he was in everything else.
And for the love of all that was holy, stop thinking about how good it would feel to have those clever baker’s hands on my skin, or what it would be like to take my time exploring every inch of him until he forgot his own bloody name.
Just…stop.
With a groan, I pushed the thoughts from my head, taking a few deep breaths as I walked the perimeter, checking on all the equipment I had installed.
The motion sensors were all functioning properly, their tiny lights blinking steadily in the darkness.
The cameras I’d positioned showed no signs of interference, and the reinforcements I’d placed on the doors and windows remained intact.
From a security standpoint, everything was exactly as it should be.
Too bad I couldn’t say the same about my emotional state.
I paused beside Charles’s flower garden, staring down at the neat rows of rosemary and sage, the purple spikes of late-blooming lavender, and clusters of bright-yellow mums without really seeing them.
A few stubborn asters clung to life despite the cooling nights, their tiny purple flowers defiant against the approaching winter, while the ornamental kale added splashes of deep burgundy and cream to the organized chaos of Charles’s perfectly maintained beds.
What the hell was wrong with me? In three centuries of guardian work, I’d never experienced anything like this.
Sure, I’d been attracted to protectees before and had acted on it—hence my trouble with Gabriel.
That closeted baseball player I’d guarded had been a dirty, eager bottom in bed, and I’d shared some great times with a Dutch politician as well.
He’d been an absolute dick, but the man could suck cock like a fecking champion.
But this thing with Charles was different. This wasn’t mere physical attraction, as inconvenient as that would’ve been considering the scrutiny I was under. No, this was something far more dangerous.
I actually liked the man.
I liked how hard he worked and his enthusiasm for baking.
I liked how his whole face lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about, and how he got flustered when he admitted to reading romance novels.
I liked his kindness and his genuine concern for people like Steve, even when he was in danger himself.
Christ, I even liked doing dishes with him.
When was the last time I’d enjoyed something as mundane as washing plates? When had I ever wanted to linger in someone’s kitchen to be near them? The answer was simple and terrifying: never.
“You’re looking remarkably contemplative for someone who’s supposed to be checking security.”
I spun around, my hand instinctively moving toward the knife at my belt before I recognized the voice. Gabriel stepped out of the shadows like he’d materialized from the darkness itself, which he probably had. The bastard always did enjoy a dramatic entrance.
“Jesus fecking Christ on a bicycle,” I hissed, pressing a hand to my chest where my heart was trying to break free from my ribcage. “Do you get some kind of sick pleasure from scaring the shit out of me?”
“More than you’d think.” Gabriel flashed me that infuriating smirk of his.
Tonight, he was dressed in what looked like a designer tracksuit—because, apparently, even celestial beings had embraced athleisure.
The effect should’ve been casual, but somehow he still managed to look like he could destroy me with a raised eyebrow.
“What do you want this time?” I asked, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “And please tell me you’re not here to critique my dinner conversation skills.”
“Actually, I’m here with an update on your case.” Gabriel’s expression grew serious. “Carlo’s putting the pieces together faster than we anticipated. He’s already made a list of everyone who was at the banquet hall when he had his little chat with Chan.”
Ice settled in my stomach. “How long do we have?”
“He’ll start making house calls tomorrow.” Gabriel studied my face. “Are you prepared for that?”
“Of course I’m prepared. It’s my fecking job.” I crossed my arms. “But I need you to put protection on Solstice and Steve.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “The flower shop owner and the banquet hall employee? Why?”
“Because Charles cares about them,” I said without thinking, then immediately wanted to kick myself. “If Carlo goes after them first, it could compromise Charles’s safety. Emotionally, I mean. He’d do something stupid to try to help them.”
“Emotionally,” Gabriel repeated, and there was something in his tone I didn’t like. “How thoughtful of you to consider your protectee’s emotional well-being.”
“It’s a good strategy. Keep the people he cares about safe, and he’s more likely to follow my instructions instead of running off to play hero.”
Gabriel was quiet for a long moment, studying me with those too-knowing eyes. “Fine. I’ll arrange for discreet surveillance on both targets. But don’t expect dedicated protection details. You know we don’t have the resources.”
Relief flooded through me. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m here to remind you of the rules, Eamon. All of them.”
The way he said it made my skin crawl. “I know the bloody rules.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re getting awfully cozy with your assignment.” Gabriel stepped closer, and I could smell his ridiculously expensive cologne again. “Cooking dinner together, sharing personal stories, almost kissing in the kitchen…”
My blood turned to ice water. “You’ve been watching us?”
“I’ve been monitoring the situation,” Gabriel corrected. “It’s my job to ensure my angels are performing their duties appropriately.”
“Like you did with the iPad. You’ve been spying on me through that bloody tablet, keeping tabs on everything I do on there.”
Gabriel’s smirk widened into a full grin. “Took you long enough to figure it out. Rafael bet you’d realize it within a week and Michael said two months, but I knew it would be at least six. Turns out, it was almost a year.”
Humiliation burned through me like acid. “You made bets on how long it would take me to realize you were violating my privacy?”
“Privacy? You’re an angel on assignment, not a teenager with a diary. Besides, it’s all standard monitoring equipment. Nothing we haven’t been doing for centuries except with better technology.”
“Standard monitoring doesn’t usually involve watching people wank to porn,” I snapped, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Gabriel’s expression softened slightly. “For what it’s worth, we don’t watch the private stuff. The system flags it and automatically blocks recording. We’re not perverts, Eamon—just supervisors doing our jobs.”
That was…something, I suppose. Still invasive as hell, but at least they weren’t getting their rocks off watching me have a sad wank in someone else’s guest bedroom.
“The point is,” Gabriel continued, his voice growing serious again, “you’re getting emotionally involved with your protectee. That needs to stop. Now.”
“I’m doing my job,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Are you? Because it looks to me like you’re about thirty seconds away from breaking one of our most fundamental rules.” Gabriel stepped closer, invading my personal space. “You know the one I’m talking about.”
Of course I did. No romantic or sexual involvement with protectees.
It was Angel Code 101, drilled into every guardian from day one.
Getting involved compromised judgment, created emotional blind spots, and generally turned competent angels into lovesick idiots who put their feelings before their duties—or so Michael had told me repeatedly, though his lectures had never made much of an impression on me.
Sleeping with a protectee had never been a problem for me.
I could fuck someone one minute and protect them the next without any issues.
“I haven’t broken any rules.”
“Yet,” Gabriel added pointedly. “But we both know you’re thinking about it. Hell, you were about to do it twenty minutes ago if you hadn’t chickened out at the last second.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the words stuck in my throat. Because he wasn’t wrong, was he? I had been about to kiss Charles. More than that, I’d wanted to kiss him with an intensity that scared me.
“Let me be very clear,” Gabriel continued, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone that meant business.
“Things are about to get very dangerous for your protectee. Carlo and his people are violent, creative, and they don’t leave witnesses.
Charles is going to need you at your absolute best, which means you need to be thinking with your head instead of your dick. ”
“I understand—”
“Do you? Because if you start anything with him—if you so much as hold his hand inappropriately—I will pull you from this assignment so fast it’ll make your head spin. And then what happens to Charles while we scramble to find a replacement?”
The threat hit home like a punch to the gut. Gabriel was right, much as I hated to admit it. Charles’s life was in my hands, and I couldn’t afford to be distracted by feelings I had no business having in the first place.
“I read the ethics code, and I’m refamiliarizing myself with the manual.”
Gabriel quirked one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Refamiliarizing?”
Ugh, bloody wanker. “I’m studying it, okay? Give me another few days, and you can interrogate me about it.”
“Good.” Gabriel’s expression relaxed slightly. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
He turned to leave, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, Eamon, I don’t think you’re a bad angel. Unconventional, yes. Difficult to manage, absolutely. But not bad.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You just need to learn that the job requires sacrifice. Personal desires, comfort, even happiness have to come second to duty.” Gabriel’s tone was almost gentle now. “That’s what separates the good angels from the great ones.”
And then he was gone, leaving me standing alone in Charles’s garden with my thoughts and a growing sense of dread.
Sacrifice. Right. Because that was what this was—sacrificing my own wants for Charles’s safety. It should’ve felt noble, honorable even. Instead, it felt like shit.
I stared up at the house, where warm light spilled from the kitchen windows. Charles was probably cleaning up the last of dinner, maybe making himself a cup of tea before bed. The image was so domestic, so perfectly normal, that it made my chest ache.
For a brief moment tonight, I’d let myself imagine what it would be like. Not the physical stuff—though Christ knew I wanted that—but the rest of it. Cooking dinner together every night. Talking about our days. Falling asleep next to someone who actually wanted me there.
But that wasn’t my life. That had never been my life, and apparently, it never would be.
I was a guardian angel, and Charles was my assignment. Nothing more, nothing less. No matter how much I might want it to be otherwise, no matter how right it felt when he smiled at me or how perfectly my hand fit against his face, it wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be real.
With a heavy sigh, I finished my perimeter check and headed back toward the house.
Time to play the part of the professional bodyguard again.
Time to pretend that sitting across from Charles at breakfast tomorrow morning wouldn’t be a special kind of torture.
Time to do my fecking job, even if it killed me.
The worst part? Charles would never know what I was giving up.
He’d probably think I lost interest, that whatever had been building between us was simply physical attraction that had burned itself out.
Maybe that was for the best. Better to hurt his feelings a little now than to get him killed because I couldn’t keep my priorities straight.
As I reached for the door handle, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window glass. I looked tired, older somehow, like the weight of the last few days had finally caught up with me.
Three hundred and twenty-two years old, and I was finally learning what it meant to want something I couldn’t have.
Lucky me.