Part 3
Cordelia’s breathing became shallow as she stared into the velvet darkness of Angel’s eyes and processed what he’d just said. Talk. Pfft. Yeah. I can’t think with him this close, and he wants me to talk? she thought frantically.
“Cordelia–,” Angel began, trying to frame his words appropriately. One verbal misstep with her and he’d be crucified. Or staked. Either one involved wood, which was not a pleasant prospect.
Angel wanted to apologize for his lascivious behavior earlier, even if it was for the sake of pretense, but he wasn’t quite sure how to say it. He knew that she had been affected by him; her heart rate had increased and her body temperature had skyrocketed. The scent of her desire had been like a drug to him; the warm vapor of it wafting like steam through his nostrils and infecting his blood with her own unique essence. The power of that scent had driven him to increase his loving caresses. Cordelia’s obvious distraction and inability to maintain coherent thought at his touch only fueled his demon’s hunger for conquest.
Justifying his actions had been deceptively easy: he told himself that it was only acting, nothing more. His demon could get his rocks off and no one would be the wiser. The problem was that he’d fallen so deep into the character of himself as Cordelia’s husband that he’d pushed her too far. When she’d escaped him to lure the bad guys into kidnapping her, his head had cleared, and the remorse he felt at his behavior squelched any satisfaction that his demon might have savored.
He shifted uncomfortably every time he thought about what Cordelia must be thinking. Angel could only imagine the confusion she must be feeling at having her boss and friend make a pass at her. She still thought he was in love with Buffy. Hell, he thought he was still in love with Buffy. At least until tonight.
These thoughts raced through his head in less than two seconds, and he realized that rehearsal was not an option at this point. Might as well jump right in.
“Cordelia, I’m—“
“Couldn’t sleep, either, Angel?” Cordelia said with forced cheerfulness, effectively cutting off his good intentions.
“Um, no, I wanted—“ Angel tried again, momentarily flustered at her interruption.
“Blood? Of course you do. You didn’t get to eat all night.” Cordelia grabbed the container Angel had been reaching for out of the fridge and closed the door forcefully, nearly catching Angel’s hand in the process. He jerked it out of the way, thankful for vampire reflexes, and moved back as Cordelia shoved past him.
Opening the spice cabinet, Cordelia perused the contents as if she were trying to decide which pair of shoes would match her latest outfit purchase. In other words, as if the fate of the world rested on her decision.
“Nutmeg?” She queried, turning to look at Angel in the half-light, squinting as she took in his confused expression. “No, I don’t think so. Nutmeg is kind of Thanksgiving-ish, and it’s June, so—“
“Cordelia,” Angel tried again, “I think we need to—“
“Ahh! Chili powder!” She held up the small bottle triumphantly. “That’s what you need! Spiciness is always good, don’t you think?” She smiled brilliantly at him, then turned toward the mug he’d retrieved from the cabinet earlier.
The combined impact of Cordelia’s smile and the horror of blood tainted with chili powder momentarily distracted Angel from his mission. “You are NOT putting chili powder in my blood,” he warned. “If you must put something in it, put cinnamon; at least I’m used to that.”
“Pfft.” Cordelia huffed, rolling her eyes. “Adventure is the name of the game, Angel. You really need to try new things once in awhile. Take a walk on the wild side.”
Leave it to Cordelia to think that fighting demons and occasionally saving the world weren’t exotic enough.
Trying to get back on track with the apology, Angel began: “I want to apolo—“
“I mean, really, Angel. Fighting demons and occasionally saving the world isn’t exactly exotic for you.” She noisily stirred the cinnamon into the mug of blood. “Now going on vacation, THAT would be a change. Someplace tropical. Put this in the fridge for me, would you?” Cordy shoved the container of blood into Angel’s hand and turned to push the buttons on the microwave. “I mean, it’s not like you could get a tan or anything, but I could have some fun and you would at least have a change of scenery. Meet new people. You know, broaden your horizons a little.”
“Cordy—“ Angel set the container on the counter, fridge forgotten.
“You’re so broody all the time; if you would just loosen up a little, you could have so much more fun. Now take Wesley. He’s changed, loosened up. Not so much the stuffed shirt anymore, you know?”
“Cordelia—” The warning in Angel’s voice was clearly evident. He took a step towards her, but she ignored it.
Cordelia continued as if he’d been silent. “You should talk to him, find out what helped him. Maybe he could give you some point—mmph.” Her seemingly endless babble was silenced by Angel’s mouth on hers.
Angel had been staring at her, tuning out her chatter, when it abruptly occurred to him that there was only one good way to shut her up. Not that he minded.
His lips rested firmly on hers, kissing her gently but insistently. Cordelia froze, her eyes sliding shut as the heat that had been collecting in her body since earlier that night rushed to the forefront and scorched her. At her hesitance, Angel gently flicked his tongue against her closed lips, and she squeaked in surprise.
Cordelia’s head was spinning. She’d seen the guilt in his eyes when they’d stared at each other over the open refrigerator door, and it terrified her. The last thing she wanted was for him to apologize for kissing her. Seeking an escape that didn’t require a total retreat, she’d taken the first excuse she thought of and tried to wing it. Obviously, it didn’t work.
As Angel’s tongue touched her lips, she realized that he was kissing her, really kissing her, and there wasn’t anyone watching. The knowledge that he actually wanted to kiss her was enough to elicit Cordelia’s complete cooperation in the matter. She flung her arms around his neck and opened herself to his kiss.
Angel intensified the contact, sliding his tongue inside her mouth and briefly touching hers. The feel of her hot mouth was like the first sip of a cappuccino; scorching, but intense, heady flavor. His arms wrapped around her back, one hand caressing her shoulder blades, the other toying with the place where her pajama pants met her tank top. He grasped her tightly, bring her hips against his, aligning their shadows into one.
Caught up in the storm of Angel’s kiss, Cordelia was frantically trying to keep up. She stroked the back of his neck, her hands in his hair, and savored the feel of his lips on hers. Had she been able to form a coherent thought, she might have wondered at the irony of the heat that such cool lips were able to ignite.
Suddenly, the intensity was too much.
Cordelia’s choppy breathing sliced the silence as she pushed back from Angel’s chest and fought for control of her thoughts. Angel let her go, any remorse for his actions at the club totally eclipsed by this behavior; he now felt a hundred times guiltier.
I can’t believe he kissed me. Cordelia’s mind raced frantically. Her eyes widened as she realized that his expression was now several degrees guiltier than it had been earlier. Oh, god! He didn’t want to kiss me? What the hell is he doing? Why would he kiss me like that if he doesn’t want me? Cordy reasoned. But if he doesn’t, I’ll just die if I say something and he shrugs it off or apologizes.
You have got to apologize for this. Angel berated himself. You’re her boss! She must be so confused. But, oh, god, her mouth. . .
He’s my boss! What am I thinking??? Starting something with Angel would be a disaster. He’s in love with Buffy, damn it! He doesn’t want me. Not really. Being rejected by Xander Harris was bad enough. Angel’s rejection would be ten times worse. . .I can’t take this. I’m not going to think about it anymore. Just shrug it off, and stop, Chase!!
“Well, that was good rehearsal for tomorrow night, Boss,” Cordelia commented, trying to reestablish the boundaries of their relationship. “Maybe we should rehearse how you’ll react if someone hits on me again.” As soon as she said it, Cordelia inwardly cringed. He never responded well when she criticized his protective nature.
“He wasn’t hitting on you, he was molesting you, Cordelia,” Angel argued, his eyes narrowing, apology now firmly on the back burner. He could still feel the intense passion of a few minutes ago, but it was quickly fading in favor of anger at Cordelia’s reckless words. “I was rescuing you.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t need rescuing,” Cordelia shot back, digging the hole deeper. She regretted having started this, but her embarrassment at being so helpless was fueling her irritation. “I was just fine, I could handle it.”
“Sure,” Angel said patronizingly. “You were heading straight for unconsciousness. Although you looked pretty confident when you were handlingMark.” He knew he sounded like a jealous lover, but Mark’s advances had tweaked him and since he wasn’t here to pulverize, he unfairly took it out on Cordelia.
“I wasn’t handling anything of Mark’s. He’s a creep! How could you think I would even do that?” She exclaimed, hurt by his insinuation. “It’s not like I asked him to tell me that lame ass come-on line.”
“Uh-huh,” Angel’s tone said exactly the opposite. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, his expression closed.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Cordelia asked, her voice rising in anger. “Are you suggesting that I asked to be attacked?”
“Well, it’s not like you dress demurely, Cordelia.” Even as the words left his mouth, Angel knew he’d just blown it. Big time.
“I will dress any way I damn well please, you undead jerk, and I will not apologize for it.” Her chin raised in defiance, any holes in her heart opened by Angel’s kiss now firmly closed again.
Angel opened his mouth to attempt apology one last time, but once again, his attempt was cut short.
“Don’t! Just stop. I think enough has been said already.” She glared at him one last time, a look that burned him to his toes, then swung around and marched to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Great. Angel thought, rubbing his hand over his tired features and sighing. Just great.
So much for apologies.
Part 4
Cordelia’s night had not been pleasant. She frowned as she looked at her tired expression in the bathroom mirror and discovered that even make-up wasn’t going to hide everything today. Muttering, she cursed Angel’s roller coastery behavior and shuffled around the bathroom, trying to look presentable before Wesley showed up. She hadn’t ventured out of her room or the bathroom yet this morning. Let Angel stew in his own juices for awhile. He deserved the silent treatment; hell, he deserved a good deal more than that.
Choosing an outfit only made Cordelia more bitter. She’d pulled out a pair of her favorite comfy jeans, the ones that fit her like a second skin and were worn and soft in all the right places. She’d also selected a silk tank top with beading and ribbon shoulder straps, but after she put everything on and looked in the mirror, Angel’s “demure” comment came rushing back and her blood boiled. She knew she looked sexy as hell, and the last thing she wanted was to be demure. Willow was demure back in high school and look where it got her: weird friends and social leprosy. She took one last look at her reflection, and mumbled, “Demure, my ass,” then turned around and headed for the door, her head held high.
In the living room, Angel was folding his blankets and tidying up the couch. He heard Cordelia enter the room behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He wasn’t sure he could face her wrath this morning. Maybe it was better to wait until Wesley got there to act as a buffer between them.
As if on cue, a knock sounded on Cordelia’s front door. Dennis, ever the gentleman, opened the door to admit a fresh-faced Wesley. He was the picture of efficiency: carefully pressed khaki trousers, a blue button down shirt open at the collar, and sparkling glasses. His arms were laden with research material and a box of donuts from the shop around the corner from Cordy’s apartment.
“Good morning, Angel,” he greeted. “How did it go last night?” He deposited the books and papers on the dining room table and carried the donuts to the kitchen. He encountered a grouchy Cordelia at the coffee maker.
“Hi, Wesley,” Cordelia said emotionlessly, not even looking up at him.
Wesley raised his eyebrows in question, finally realizing that Angel hadn’t answered his question. He turned back toward his boss in the living room.
“Angel? I asked what happened last night,” he repeated.
“I heard you the first time, Wes,” Angel stated. “Nothing happened. It didn’t work. Someone else took a shine to Cordelia and I had to take care of him.”
Cordelia coughed behind her fist, a sound that suspiciously resembled “bullshit” in the midst of all the hmmffing and clearing her throat.
Wesley gave her a stern look. Cordelia ignored him.
“I gather that you two had a falling out of some sort,” Wesley postured, sounding very British.
“Well, let’s give a medal to Captain Obvious over here,” Cordelia snarked under her breath.
Angel cleared his throat, knowing that an explanation would not be easy. “We both said some things that we shouldn’t have.” Understatement was always a good thing, wasn’t it?
Cordelia raised an eyebrow haughtily, still refusing to look at him. “Maybe you did,” she stated.
“Well,” Wesley stated, following the tense silence at Cordelia’s comment. “Whatever happened, you two need to put it aside. We have a job to do here, and you’re in the middle of it, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Did you forget who’s boss here, Wes?” Angel snapped, feeling a need to gain some control of the situation.
At Wesley’s obviously hurt look, Angel sighed. “Sorry, Wes. You’re right. We do have a job to do and we shouldn’t let emotions get in the way.”
Still not in the mood to play nice, Cordelia couldn’t resist adding bitterly, “You could’ve thought of that last night.”
“Cordelia, how many times can I say I’m sorry?” Angel asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation.
“Maybe if you’d try it at least once then we’d get somewhere,” she said bitterly, remembering that he’d never apologized for anything yet. Not that she’d wanted him to. About the kissing, anyway.
After a moment of confusion, Angel understood what she meant. He’d tried to apologize about 10 times last night, but none had ever actually been verbalized. “I’m sorry for what I said, Cordy,” he said softly, his tone begging her to look at him.
She finally swung her hazel gaze to his brown one, but her expression was still stony. The look they exchanged was a conversation in and of itself.
“Forgive me?”
“I will play the good girl because I have to, but I will NOT forgive you yet. I’m not ready.”
Relief flooded through Angel at the beginnings of a truce between himself and his seer. He smiled inwardly as he realized that he’d get to touch her all night, and that would make up for a lot.
Wesley, ever the realist, moved to the table. “So, now that that’s taken care of. . .Let’s get to work.”
***
Expecting a replay of the previous night’s groping, Angel was in for some bitter disappointment. He and Cordelia walked into the club and she took off toward Jeremy’s friends without waiting to see if he was following. When they got there, she grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter and joined Cynthia and Jennifer, her back to him. Every so often, she’d glance over at him and blast him with an icy glare, then swing her head away haughtily. Since she hadn’t spoken to him since that morning, he wasn’t certain if she was playacting or if she was really still that angry. He suspected that it was a little of both.
Angel turned his attention to Mark and Jeremy’s other friend, Kenny. Kenny was married to Cynthia, the one with the weird laugh, and he seemed to be totally enamored of her. While Mark was a womanizing snake, Kenny seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. Kind of chatty, but nice, nonetheless. He immediately engaged Angel in a conversation about the late 1960’s Corvette he was restoring, and Angel began to relax a little.
From her vantage point a few feet away, Cordelia could see some of the tension seep out of Angel’s shoulders as he talked with Kenny. Mark had been distracted by a floozy waitress, and Cordelia was glad that she wouldn’t have to suffer his sleazy attention tonight. The last thing they needed was another scene.
“Looks like the honeymoon’s over at your house, hon.” Jennifer’s catty comment interrupted Cordelia’s thoughts and she tore her glare away from Angel long enough to give her best Queen C haughtiness to the nosy socialite.
“Oh, he’s just being a jerk lately. Overprotective.” She sipped her wine as she thought about how far she should take this. Hell, might as well get some good acting practice in.
Her proud gaze softened, tears forming in her eyes as she entreated Jennifer to understand. “I just love him so much, you know?” Cordelia sniffled. Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. “I try to look my best for him, and he criticizes me! He thinks I want other men to hit on me.” One hand covered her now trembling mouth, the other, holding the wineglass, hovered over her neckline as if she were worried about her outfit’s appropriateness.
Amazed, Cordelia saw Jennifer’s expression transform. Some of the cattiness disappeared and sympathy replaced it. Realizing she was in the presence of a scorned woman, Cordelia knew she’d played her part right. Last night’s flaunting of her “happy” marriage must have intensified Jennifer’s bitterness at her own failed marriage. Her husband was picking up other women in her very presence, and that must hurt, even if he wasn’t very good at it.
“The nerve!” Jennifer commiserated, patting Cordelia on the shoulder. “Men can be so insensitive. I mean, do they realize what lengths we go to for them?” She shook her head, glaring over at Angel. She stopped abruptly, turned to Cordelia and looked her up and down. “You look fantastic, girl. Don’t ever let that man stifle you. You should be displayed as the beautiful queen you are, not hidden like a mousy housewife.”
“I know,” Cordelia straightened, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Damn, I’m good! she thought with satisfaction. “It’s just that I want him to be happy,” her voice was wistful, just the right mixture of pain and longing.
“Of course you do, dear,” Jennifer reassured, squeezing her arm. “I think you need a margarita to cheer you up.” She flagged down the waiter passing their table again. Cordelia fleetingly thought about how easy it was to get alcohol even though she was underage. Something should be done about that.
As Jennifer ordered her drink, Cordelia’s eyes drifted over to Angel. He was still fully engrossed in his conversation with Kenny, and since Cordelia knew it couldn’t be about demon hunting, it had to be about vintage cars. She smiled as she thought about his limited list of viable conversation topics. Her gaze wandered down to his hand, which was firmly grasping his drink. His strong fingers wrapped around the glass, the blunt thumb rubbing the condensation gently, back and forth, hypnotizing in its rhythm. Her mouth went dry as she watched the absent stroking. She was instantly transported back to last night, when that same thumb had grazed her lower back, brushing her tattoo and playing with the hem of her pajama top as his mouth had hungrily devoured hers. The memories were scorching in their force.
“Isn’t it hot in here?” She asked huskily to no one in particular.
“Here you go, hon,” Jennifer shoved the margarita glass into Cordelia’s empty hand, removing the wine from the other. Cordy automatically took a sip, grimacing at the amount of alcohol. Having been distracted from Angel’s hands to her drink, her eyes searched him out again. This time she met his gaze. His eyes darkened when he took in her flushed face and open mouth, but he wasn’t going to let himself get sidetracked. Cordelia’s eyes widened when she saw him jerk his head, as if to signal her that they should leave. She had stomach-churning thoughts about finishing what they’d started last night, but those flames were doused the minute she figured out that he’d motioned in the direction of the bathroom, not the exit.
She sighed at the inevitable call of duty. Using their prearranged signal, she adjusted her purse on her shoulder and set down her drink. “Excuse me for a minute, Jen,” she said to her companion. “I need to freshen up.”
“Of course,” Jennifer returned absently, her eyes narrowing as she took in her husband’s antics with the forward waitress.
Angel excused himself from his conversation with Kenny when he saw Cordelia take the hint and saunter off to the back of the club. He followed her surreptitiously, determined to avoid a fiasco like last night. He frowned, also determined to avoid the force drawing his eyes to the sway of her graceful hips as she walked.
Cordelia’s heart pounded as she pushed open the entrance to the hallway. Last night’s events played over in her head, causing her to hesitate briefly, but she pushed on.
Angel trailed close behind, blending into the shadowy corners of the dimly lit hallway. He could hear her heartbeat in the stillness, assuring him that she was all right. He watched as she disappeared into the ladies’ room, stifling the urge to run in and grab her, take her home, and make her his, all under the guise of “It’s too dangerous; I need to protect her.” The only thing holding him back was the realization that there was probably no other way to successfully solve this case. That, and he knew that Cordelia would have no qualms about kicking his ass if he ruined things again tonight.
Cordelia stood at the counter in the bathroom, gazing at her reflection in an attempt to regain her composure and berating herself for being such a coward. She was scared. She could admit that. The part she couldn’t admit was the abduction wasn’t the only thing that was scaring her. Think about it later, Chase. She admonished herself. You have work to do. After a convincing amount of time had passed, she exited the bathroom.
Before the door even closed behind her, she heard a small pop and felt something sharp sting her neck. Her hand automatically going to the source of the pain, she removed a small dart from her skin.
Had consciousness remained for a little longer, she would have sworn she heard a low growl from behind her. As it was, the last thought she had before the fuzziness turned black was that Angel had better behave himself this time because she was NOT going to go through this again.
***
Cordelia woke abruptly, no fuzziness at all. She opened her eyes, sat up, and shreiked at the sight before her.
“Oh.MY.GOD!!” she exclaimed in shock. “What the hell are YOU doing here?!?!?”
The familiar brown eyes of Alexander Lavelle Harris looked back into Cordelia’s as her mouth hung open in amazement.
