Midwinter Magic Read Free

her. She had the bad habit of looking at her cursed clipboard instead of watching him, as she was contractually obligated to do.
    Not that staring at him was a burden. Jack Morgan was divine.
    Well, not divine- divine. He was one hundred percent human, and very off-limits. But he was the perfect combination of dark hair and hazel eyes and six feet of lean muscle that, for most of his adult life, had either been gift-wrapped in no-nonsense business suits or dripping with sweat at his private gym.
    So, yeah. Not exactly a big sacrifice to keep her eyes on him at all times.
    And she would’ve, if it hadn’t been for that damn clipboard. Her one vice. (Well, second if you count ogling her client. And maybe third, if you counted saying ‘damn.’)
    She was a guardian angel. Specifically, Jack Morgan’s guardian angel. And she would’ve remained his very secret, very invisible heaven-approved bodyguard, if she’d been staring at him instead of at her clipboard.
    Being an angel, she didn’t need clipboards, or mortal crutches of any kind. But it wasn’t about what she needed. She liked lists. Even if every word was already committed to her perfect recall, there was just something satisfying about striking out each completed line item, of gazing at a list with more tasks complete than incomplete.
    Especially in this case, where she was actively trying to prevent her client from continuing to the next item. His well-being was her responsibility. California was safe. Bolivia was not. But Jack Morgan was the stubbornest, most ambitious, most ruthlessly determined human she’d ever dealt with. And although he was driving her to an early grave—or would be, if angels weren’t virtually immortal—she might have an eensy weensy crush on all that strong, focused determination.
    She’d never given her feelings more thought than that. There was no point. He was human, she wasn’t. She was invisible, he wasn’t. Interaction was so not even a remote possibility, as to almost preclude the fantasy.
    Until now.
    Once he’d seen that clipboard—and had a brief glimpse of her true self in the process—she’d had to materialize, to protect his human psyche. (It would look extremely unfavorable on her end-of-month review should it come to light she’d inadvertently driven insane the very person she was assigned to protect.)
    Now it was just a matter of waiting for an opportune moment to disappear. She’d planned to vanish as soon as he stepped inside the dentist’s house—when he emerged to find her gone, he’d assume she was the wacko, not him—but all he did was shove the worn sacks inside the door and turn back around with an expectant look on his dangerously handsome face.
    She felt bad about being responsible for the crappy sacks. And the crates. And the rental cars. And the planes. She’d just wanted him to stay home. Stay safe . But he made it so damn hard. The conditions of her employment specifically stated that her magic—pardon, her “miracles,” although Jack might not see them that way—could only affect the assigned party. She’d gone into a gray area when she’d diverted his first plane to Vegas, although she’d ensured that anyone with undisruptable travel plans had been rebooked on an alternate flight. She’d thrown everything at him she could think of to keep him from returning, but Jack Morgan hadn’t become the man he was today by being easy to push around.
    And now she owed him dinner.
    He gestured toward the dirt road. “Well?”
    Sarah gulped. He wasn’t smiling at her. He rarely smiled at anyone, which was a huge waste if you asked her. His smile was breathtaking. Right now, though, he was tired and hungry, both of which were her fault.
    “This way.” She hopped off the front stoop and headed toward the road.
    When he didn’t immediately follow, she froze in horror.
    Had she hopped off the stoop? Or had she, maybe, floated off the stoop out of habit? Good Lord, pretending to be human was