The Ghost of The Lightner Museum

Chapter Forty Six

Angel glided across the ballroom, her hand poised in John's and on his shoulder. His steps were practiced and light. His grip on her waist and their conjoined palms held a quiet strength as he guided her through the dance with ease. She couldn't control the smile forming at her lips at how easy he made it seem to simply float.

He returned her smile briefly with a quirk of his lips before his eyes slid to the entry archway for the hundredth time. Angel noticed how his expression kept faltering into one of sheer searching, as if he were awaiting someone.

Of course, she already knew who exactly.

"Expecting anyone?" She broke the awkward silence with a light-hearted cadence to her voice. John looked down at her sharply with a quiet inhale, his trance being broken by her words. Meeting her curious gaze, he stiffened slightly.

"I am." He replied, dispassionately sending her in a quick twirl before pulling her back in closer.

Angel curled a lip at him as she tisked with her tongue against her teeth.

"What the hell, man. She obviously isn't into you." She muttered for only him to hear. A muscle ticked in his jaw momentarily before he angled his face and assessed her with guarded eyes beneath dark lashes.

"You know, you never answered my question from earlier. Why exactly are you here? What is your relationship with Charlotte?"

His voice was clipt, his face devoid of emotion and the outright bluntness of his questions had Angel's senses on high alert. She returned his intent gaze with one of her own, not daring to show any sign of cowardice.

"Aw, did I make the pretty boy nervous? Good. Because you don't want to mess with me. I'm Charlotte's...uh...best friend, and as you already found out, I have special skills. Very special skills."

"What? Such as being able to disappear and reappear like a bad case of syphilis? Undoubtedly." He scoffed.

Angel's eyes widened in insult and her face dropped into a scowl. Her mouth opened, yet she found herself unable to say anything for only foul words like, bastard, and, motherfucker, came to mind. John gave her a sweeping glance before his lips upturned into a wry smile. Leaning in until she could smell the expensive cologne and ocean spray from his vest, he murmured quietly, "I do find it intriguing though. She has never once mentioned you. And with a spitfire like yourself, I find it hard to believe she wouldn't have a scintillating story or two about you to share."

She felt tingles creep into her stomach as she lifted her eyes to his piercing blue ones.

"Call me a spitfire again and I'll spit on your fire...fucking face." Her words died away as an embarrassed flush heated up her cheeks and she looked down to avoid seeing his reaction.

A huffed burst of laughter escaped his lips before he answered in an affronted voice, "At least ask me to dinner and buy me flowers first, love."

"Oh my God. Just stop with all the stupid nicknames. My name is Angel. ANGEL." She snapped back while he merely chuckled and looked down at her like she was telling him the greatest joke ever.

"Oh, what a lucky man am I. God has sent me down an Angel...of death." He acquiesced sardonically.

"Hey. You have no idea." She answered with an uncontrollable edge to her voice. If only he knew what would soon happen within the next few hours...

He suddenly eased her back into a low dip, forcing her to grab onto his hand and shoulder tighter, depending entirely on his body for balance. Her eyes whipped up to him and met his electrifying pools of deep intelligence.