One he could not do anything about, for whoever had left it was long gone by the time Jack woke and found the thing. Easing out of bed, he left a sleeping Mary, fragrant and warm with the intoxicating scent of sex and sleep, to read it. The message was simple, a time, place, and request that Jack arrive alone scrawled with a fanciful hand. An elaborate A was the only signature. Jack, having learned a thing or two from the men in his life, all of whom loved headstrong women, woke Mary and showed it to her. Last night he’d told her everything he knew of Amaros, and of his being a Nephil, which still unsettled him. Upon hearing that Jack was part angel, Mary had grinned wide. “Your dulcet nature ought to have been the first clue.” “Ha!” Jack had murmured against her neck; his hands were busy elsewhere. “You are truly hilarious. A comic bard.” “And to think you call me the angel.” She’d chuckled, a warm, contented sound that went straight to his heart. Her hands ran over his back.
