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“May I sit?”
I nod. “Please.”
“I’m Slade.” He sticks out a hand and I shake it. His reptilian skin is smooth and cool.
“Angel,” I say. It’s not like I can give him my real name.
He assesses me for a moment before speaking. “No,” he says decisively, shaking his head.
I freeze. Does he somehow know me? Is that why he was staring? Did he recognize me from some fundraiser or something? “No?”
He purses his lips and gives me a slow up-and-down look. My belly swoops again at the intent way he stares at me.
“No. Your vibe is far too sultry for an Angel. You’re more like a Veronica. Or maybe a Stella.” He raises a brow as if daring me to contradict him. “I don’t think there’s anything angelic about you.”
I let out the breath I was holding. He’s just flirting, not calling me out on my lie. All right, then. Two can play this game. “You can call me whatever you like,” I say with a grin. “If Angel doesn’t suit you, pick something else.”
He quirks a brow. “Interesting.”
“A reward for not giving me a cheesy line about being heaven sent.” I lean close and catch his scent. I’m used to Adan and his fancy colognes, but Slade is different.
His smell is darker, muskier. Like midnight in an ancient forest, a mix of cedar, pepper, and vetiver. It seems like it might be his natural scent, rather than a product he slathered on. Something about it gives me another tingle in my belly.
“Oh, I never use cheesy lines,” he says, watching me intently. “But since you’re an angel, well…” He trails off and I cock my head, dying to know what he was going to say.
“What?”
“Just…if you’re an angel, I’d like to see you fall.” He takes a slow sip of whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine.
I raise a brow. “Would you now?”
“Oh, yeah. Angels are boring. Fallen angels, though…now that’s something interesting. Willing to get their hands dirty down here on Earth. Maybe get other things dirty as well.”
My body reacts again, and I try not to blush. If he keeps talking like this, I really might fall. Right into his pants. I clear my throat.
“What is it you do, Slade?” I ask. “When you’re not busy persuading angelic women to take a tumble, that is.”
He laughs and takes another drink of his whiskey, and I notice that his tongue is forked, darting into the golden liquid and back out. “Oh, I fix things,” he says idly. “I guess I’m something of a handyman.”
I’ve never met a handyman who wears three thousand-dollar suits, but I don’t call him out. I think tonight we’re both pretending to be something we’re not, and I’m enjoying the game.
“What about you?” he asks.
It’s a good question. What about me? What happened to the girl I used to be, the one with dreams and aspirations? How did I end up trapped in a cage of lies and luxury? “I’m in between jobs at the moment,” I finally say.
He leans in, and up close, I can see that his eyes aren’t as yellow as I previously thought. They’re more of an amber, not far off from my own hazel ones.
“Can I ask what you something?” I say. “A personal question, I mean.”
He shifts even closer, hitting me with that sexy scent again. “Mmm, personal. Those are my favorite kind. Ask away.” The corner of his mouth turns up.
“What are you?’
He tilts his head in curiosity, and the snakes woven into his bun wiggle. “What do you mean?” he says.
“Your species. I don’t meet many non-humans.”
“Oh.” He chuckles. “I’m a serpentine. One of the reptilian races, obviously. We’re not particularly rare. I take it you don’t get out much, huh?”
