Part 2
Angel’s anger nearly consumed him. Seeing some overly-muscled creep with his arms around Cordelia had unhinged him, loosing his demon and making it difficult to spare the life of this worthless man. Angel’s fists connected repeatedly with the attacker’s face and body, denting his ugly features and reducing him to a whimpering, bloody mess. Hearing Cordy’s groan and seeing her sitting up was the only thing that kept Angel from snuffing her attacker’s life.
Cordelia slowly placed her hand on her forehead, her thoughts fuzzy. When her vision cleared, Cordy took in the pulverized features of her assailant who was now spread-eagled on the dingy hallway floor. She glared at Angel, sending him her patented Geez, you’re a moron! expression.
“Angel!” Cordelia hissed. “The guy’s unconscious. If we wanted any information, we won’t get any from him now.” She grabbed the hand that Angel offered and struggled to her feet as gracefully as a micro-mini and five-inch heels would allow.
Angel’s dispassionate features showed no remorse for his treatment of the thug. In his opinion, the guy was fair game; Cordelia wasn’t to be touched by anyone except him. Well, maybe Wesley, but even Wesley would be walking on thin ice if he touched Cordelia with intentions beyond friendship. It belatedly occurred to Angel that his thoughts didn’t exactly sound boss-like. More in the neighborhood of stalker-like. He shrugged off the uncomfortable thoughts and concentrated on his woozy seer.
“He wasn’t our guy,” Angel explained simply. “Not a demon.” He placed Cordy’s hand in the crook of his elbow and led her out of the hallway and back onto the main floor of the club.
“So!” Cordy argued in a whisper, her exasperation clearly evident. “Maybe he’s got brainless human henchmen working for him.” She didn’t want tonight’s trauma to be for nothing.
“I saw the last abduction, remember?” Angel reminded her. “There’s an MO here. Tranq dart, then abduction by brainless demon henchmen.” Angel guided her back to the group of Jeremy’s friends.
Cordy muttered, “Figures. First time I go incognito and I attract some dim-witted, beefy Jethro trying to cop a feel.” She plastered her famous 1000-watt smile firmly in place once more. “Remind me why I agreed to this again?”
“I think it was ‘helping the hopeless,’ as you like to put it,” Angel reminded her.
“Uh-huh,” Cordy returned grudgingly through clenched teeth and sighed. “I did sign up for this, didn’t I?” Giving in to the inevitable, Cordy realized she needed some alcoholic sustenance to continue with the charade. “Get me a drink, would you, Angel?” She asked. “Something fruity.”
He smiled briefly and released her arm. With a last look that said “behave yourself,” Angel turned and threaded his way through the crowd toward the bar.
The alcohol had definitely been flowing freely during Cordelia’s brief foray into the dangers of the club’s bathroom hallway. The wives, Cynthia and Jennifer, were waving wine glasses as they gossiped. It was their third round, if the empty glasses on the table were any indication. Jennifer’s speech flowed nearly uninterrupted as she scathingly dismantled every other woman in the room, from hairstyle to footwear, all comments and haughty looks poorly concealed behind her diamond-encrusted hand. Cynthia giggled frequently at Jennifer’s comments, a laugh that grated on Cordelia’s nerves. It was a high-pitched titter that Cordelia supposed was intended to sound like tinkling glass, but actually sounded more like a baby hyena with it’s tail smashed in a car door.
Jennifer momentarily paused in her catty attack on L.A.’s society when she saw Cordelia standing alone. “Where’d that scrumptious husband of yours take off to, hon?” Jennifer asked. “You shouldn’t let that one out of your sight for long,” she warned, the sticky sweetness of her phony smile not reaching her blue eyes. “He’s a prime target.”
Any answer Cordy would have given was preempted by the advances of Mark, Jeremy’s libidinous friend. A smile, undoubtedly meant to be sexy, became a drunken leer as he perused Cordelia’s features. He sauntered over, taking advantage of Cordelia’s lack of companionship to make his move. Cordy braced herself for the onslaught of sleeze.
“Cordelia,” Mark propositioned, “Is your father in prison?” A sly, toothy grin stretched across his face.
Cordy struggled to keep from rolling her eyes as she played along. Ironic that he would use that pick-up line, she thought wryly as she recalled her father’s felonious activities. “No, why?” She asked innocently.
“Well, he should be. He stole the stars from the heavens to put into your eyes.” Mark smirked, proud of himself for getting the lame line right.
“Ha, Ha! You’re so funny, Mark!” Cordelia said with false brightness, her headache intensifying as the cheesiness increased. She was infinitely relieved when she saw Angel returning to her from the bar, a pink drink in one hand, a scotch on the rocks in the other.
Handing her the pink beverage, Angel snaked his arm around her waist and brought her hips in line with his. She shivered as his hand caressed her hip, Mark’s lame come-on forgotten, Angel’s cool fingers brushing the bare skin between the silk scrap of her top and the cloth of her skirt. Her eyes slid shut at the narcotic-like bliss his touch inspired. Get a grip, Cordy! she berated herself. The last thing she wanted was a replay of the earlier inner gooiness at the feel of Angel’s hard body next to hers. He lowered his lips to her ear, looking to the casual observer as if he were murmuring passionate phrases to his lover. Cordelia was chagrined at the disappointment that surged through her when the words from Angel’s mouth were far from lover-like.
“We’re not getting anything useful here tonight,” Angel whispered. “Let’s make our excuses and leave. We can rethink this tomorrow and try again.” His lips brushed the sensitive skin under her ear, undoubtedly for the visual effect, but the physical effect was powerful.
Mark was obviously put-out that his conquest of Cordelia had been thwarted. He glared at Angel and sipped his martini. Cordelia met his eyes and shivered at the ruthlessness she saw. He quickly shuttered his gaze, and Cordelia was left to wonder if she’d just imagined it.
Cordy turned to Jennifer and Cynthia. “Thanks for a fun evening, girls,” she said insincerely, but attempting politeness. No one was going to say that Cordelia Chase was ill-mannered.
“Of course!” Jennifer returned, her own insincerity dripping from the words. “We must do this again soon.” Her statement was followed by Cynthia’s hyena giggle.
Angel grabbed Cordelia’s hand and they hastily exited the club. Once on the street, Angel didn’t release Cordy’s hand and she didn’t try to take it back. It felt right, somehow. Neither of them dwelt on the thought, but the feel of her warm hand encased in his was pleasant, and Angel wasn’t about to give that up.
***
Cordelia lay on her bed, counting the ceiling tiles and contemplating the state of her emotions. Angel was ensconced in the living room, asleep on the couch as he had been every night for the past month since his apartment was bombed, but Cordelia had never been more aware of his presence than she was tonight. Unbidden, the feelings his touch had unexpectedly created kept replaying in her head. Every time she thought about how it felt to be held by him, the slow fire in the pit of her stomach grew hotter. She turned over restlessly, ruthlessly pummeling her pillow and finally burying her face in it.He’s your boss, Cordelia! she lectured herself sternly. No “salty goodness” vibes there, okay? You have to work with him. Workplace romances are in poor taste. You see him every day, he lives in your apartment, he sleeps under your blankets, he showers in your bathroom, rubs your towels over his . . . Oh, make it stop! Just stop thinking! She tossed again, flinging her blankets off her heated flesh. I’ve just been without sex for too long. Yeah, that’s it. Not since that creep Wilson. He made me swear off men, and now I’m all torqued up. Nothing else! Cordelia continued her attempt to convince herself.It can’t be Angel. He’s a vampire, for Pete’s sake! Okay, so he’s a totally hot, hard-stomached, broad shouldered, full-lipped, smoldering-eyed, strong-armed hottie, but . . . Oh, this is NOT helping!! Cordy rolled over, mutilating her pillow once again in frustration. Damn pillow’s even out to get me! she groused, sending the offending object sailing towards the door.
In the living room, Angel heard the soft muffle of the pillow as it connected with the other side of the closed door. He could sense Cordelia’s unsettled state, and his own mind was in total sympathy. He had played his role of doting husband to the hilt tonight, and he was surprised at how much it had affected him. Cordelia was a beautiful woman; he’d known that since Sunnydale when he’d found her hiding in a dumpster full of severed body parts. But before tonight, he’d never considered her to be his beautiful woman.
Sure, he was territorial where she was concerned, but he’d considered that to be a result of her status as his friend and seer, not anything more. Now he wasn’t so sure. She’d dressed to kill, as she always did, but he hadn’t ever noticed just how soft her skin was, how good her hair smelled, or how perfect she fit in his embrace. He hadn’t felt anything this right since Buffy, and even that hadn’t been so fantastic at the end of his tenure in Sunnydale. In short, Cordelia’s presence was messing with his mind and heating him up faster than he’d thought possible.
There was another, more easily admitted reason for his overacting tonight: getting Cordelia worked up was a kind of fun that Angel didn’t have very often. The demon in him liked the emotional torture, and while Angelus would have ended the manipulation with pain and death, Angel was heading down a more dangerous road: falling in love. He’d intended to fluster Cordy and give himself the satisfaction of gloating in the power he’d realized he had over her, but he hadn’t intended to be affected himself. He was dangerously close to losing his heart to his beautiful seer, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.
Angel sighed and sat up, running his fingers through the short spikes of his hair. He knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, so he might as well be awake. He walked into the kitchen, pausing at a cabinet and removing a mug.
In her room, Cordelia sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the mirror on her wall. Her haggard appearance, highlighted by the dim light, only served to more firmly cement her bad mood. She stood up abruptly, flung open the door, and marched into the kitchen. She flung open the door to the refrigerator, only to have Angel’s hand brush hers as she reached for the milk and he for the container of blood. The sparks that flew between them as their skin brushed could have lit up the room. Their eyes whipped towards each other, and Cordelia’s heart stopped as she bathed in the heated intensity of Angel’s gaze.
“Cordelia,” his deep voice broke the silence. “We have to talk.”