Archangel Rafe (A Novel of The Seven Book 1) Read Free

eroticism of the memory. The slick glide of his tongue along the inside of her thigh, the slightly rough skim of his fingertips along her breasts before he molded and cupped, the brush of his hair against her collarbone as he closed his mouth over her nipple, the wiry curls and heavy, solid weight of his sex against her softer, swollen and ready body. The heady scent of ancient herbs smoldered in the air. The whole experience was extremely sensual and erotic, right until he opened his eyes.
    He presses a kiss to the sunspot and bolts of fire shoot through her body. And then....
    “He opens his eyes and he looks down at me with sheer horror, as if he’s committed the most grievous sin on earth, in heaven or hell...and then I wake up, sweating like a pig.”
    And I think, great, even a dream guy doesn’t want me.
    “That’s just what that prick Gary did to you, honey. You’ll get over it. You need to find someone else. Someone to replace the dream and Gary and then you’ll feel better.” Janine frowned as much as she could with the botulism toxin freezing her forehead. “You don’t want to be lonely.”
    She was wrong. That was exactly what Angelina wanted. To be alone. She had too many responsibilities as it was. The care and feeding of a man would be just one more.
    Janine offered up her target du jour for her. “You want eleven o’clock?”
    “No.” Angelina hesitated. “You don’t want him either. You need someone who wants you, not just your looks.”
    Janine pulled back into herself.
    “Thank you, though.” That’s what Janine didn’t get. Angelina didn’t want some anonymous face and body. She didn’t want anybody except maybe the dream guy.
    “Forget the dream. You need a real man.”
    Angelina looked around. “The guy in my dream isn’t real either. I mean, he really isn’t a guy.”
    “What?” Her perfectly shadowed eyes rounded. “What’s that mean, it’s a woman?”
    “No! Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But....” Angelina eyed the scant distance between tables and hoped no one was actually eavesdropping on their conversation, knowing she was crazy. She had to be. She rubbed the spot with her thumb. “He’s got wings.”
    “Like an airplane?”
    “Like an angel,” she whispered.

THREE
    “I’m wearing this and you can’t stop me.” Lina practically stomped her foot.
    Angelina’s head throbbed. Pain stabbed through her right eye in unrelenting spears, and threatened to split her entire brain in half, which if she were lucky, would kill her instantly. If I were dead I wouldn’t have to listen to Lina defy me every chance she got.
    They used to have the most wonderful relationship. Close, loving, open. Lina would tell her all sorts of things. Innocent things. Who went out with who. Whether they actually talked to each other or just exchanged texts. When they first hugged. Angelina had been the envy of her friends because she had more inside scoop on the middle school goings on than anyone else.
    Now Lina wanted to go to her first high school dance in a very short, strapless dress and a very thin thong. So not happening.
    Angelina sat on Lina’s ruffled white eyelet bedspread. Her make-up bag jumbled together with stuffed Sesame Street toys and her look-alike American Girl doll. With a sense of total bewilderment Angelina wondered how Lina had gone from innocent to sexual in such a short time.
    “Angelina Paulina, I love you,” she said in warning. “But, not in that outfit.”
    “Angelina Jolie.” Lina spat, “You can’t stop me.”
    She and the famous Angelina Jolie only had one thing in common. A name.
    The famous one had six kids and an adoring husband and a French chateau. She had two kids, an asshole almost ex-, and a giant mortgage she couldn’t afford.
    Wonder if Grammy would have christened her Angelina Jolie if she’d known the case of envy the name would inspire.
    Her grandma had named her, christening her Angelina Jolie Guerisse. It was a