Angel Fever (Immortal Legacy #3) - Ella Summers Page 0,7
antagonized, then it confirms every bad thing he’s ever thought about me.”
“You are being paranoid.”
“Always,” Damiel agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not right.”
“Do you know what I think, Damiel?”
He braided his fingers together and smiled. “I’m hanging on your every word.”
I tried to ignore the sweet, melodious rhythm of his voice. It wasn’t easy. I just knew he was soaking a little of his siren magic into his words. Damiel played Siren’s Song like a true virtuoso.
“I think you arrive at every dinner, wanting to be antagonized,” I told him.
“Assuming that is true—not that I’m saying it is—would it be so bad?”
“Of course it’s bad.”
“Why?” His brows lifted in time with his voice.
I frowned at him. “This is a trick question.”
“Oh?”
Yes. I was sure of it now.
“You’re angling the conversation to somewhere it has no business being,” I said.
“That would be devious.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “And you are.”
“Cadence, I understand you care about both your father and me. You want us to be happy.”
“Yes,” I replied, cautious.
“Seeing us happy makes you happy.”
“At the risk of walking right into your trap, yes. Seeing you both happy does make me happy.”
“You need to consider this situation for a moment from a completely impartial perspective,” he told me. “If your father wishes to be antagonized, and I wish to be antagonized, then shouldn’t you be happy when we fight? Because we are both doing what makes us happy.”
There it was. Damiel’s trap. And I’d walked right into it.
“Damiel Dragonsire, you truly have a talent for distorting reality.”
“Princess, if you continue to lather me with praise, I can’t promise to behave myself,” Damiel said with a slow twist of his lips.
I looked down. His hand was on my thigh.
“We are on a mission, Damiel,” I whispered.
“We still have time before we arrive at the ruins.” He cast a long, leisurely look over me as his tongue slipped out and slid slowly over his lips.
“You want us to have sex in the back of a Legion truck?” I hissed.
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
I blushed.
His hand brushed across my cheek, soft and sensual. “All teasing and pretenses aside, Cadence, I love you. You are the brilliant light that lights up my dismal immortal existence.”
His words were so beautiful—but not as beautiful as the truth that sang from every syllable.
My eyes were wet, my throat tight with emotion.
The serious light in his eyes turned playful. “So if I can’t keep my hands to myself, well basically ever, then I can’t be held responsible.”
“Can’t be held responsible…” I repeated in disbelief.
“Your angelic halo blinds me to everything else.”
“Including prudence and reason.”
“Prudence and reason are poor bedfellows.”
Laughter burst out of my mouth. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Naturally. For an angel to be corrigible, he would first need to be guilty of imperfection.”
I chuckled. I just couldn’t stop laughing. I loved seeing Damiel like this, not cold and stoic and weighed down by a million worries.
“You really should at least try to behave yourself,” I told him.
“When outsiders are present, I will behave myself. But not when we’re alone.”
“We aren’t alone.” I glanced at the sliding panel between the front and back seats. “Leila is driving the truck.”
Damiel brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. “She’s always kept your secrets. She is good people.”
His hand trailed down my thigh, his touch whisper-soft.
Before I could give in to temptation, I slid open the dividing panel and called to the front, “Did you hear that, Leila? You’re good people.”
“I heard,” she replied, her eyes on the road. “In fact, I heard more than I ever needed to hear.”
Her reproach was tempered with a light, teasing undertone. Major Leila Jewell was a studious, loyal Legion soldier, but she knew how to have a good time. Her magic research was very well organized, yet there was still something almost playful about the way she ran her experiments.
She was very dedicated to her duties, but even more dedicated to her friends. I was lucky to be one of those friends.
“Few people have ever seen this side of General Dragonsire,” I told her. “Damiel must really like you if he’s given you a peek beneath the Master Interrogator mask.”
A saucy smirk hid beneath the surface of Leila’s serious, sculpted lips. She was the rare soldier who could emerge from a battle with her makeup as perfect as it had been before the fight. Today she wore red-orange glitter eyeshadow and strawberry-red lipstick.
“From what I overheard of your conversation, your father has seen