Read Online A Touch of Heaven by Portia Da Costa - Free Book Online Page B

familiar sound, like billowing sails, and my eyes snap open.
    Spread out from my angel’s back, and curving round us both, are his great white wings. And as his body arches and he beats them once, twice, and three times, he cries aloud and comes in glory, along with me.
     
    When I wake again it is morning. The sun’s rising in the sky and my bedroom is warm. My body feels well rested and well pleasured, with no arthritic twinges other than a slight one in my left hip, but much less than usual.
    Patrick.
    I fly straight up in bed, and then moan inarticulately.
    He’s gone.
    But he can’t be. He said to trust and to believe. The unthinkable can’t have happened. There must be an explanation.
    I refuse to accept that I might have lost him.
    Clambering out of bed whilst fishing around for my nightgown, I refuse to give up hope, even though Patrick’s clothes are nowhere to be seen. My faith starts to waver, but just as I grit my teeth and start to get angry with myself, I hear a familiar sound coming closer, approaching up the stairs.
    Someone’s singing. They’re singing in a sweet way that’s both tuneless and tuneful at the same time. My heart leaps as Patrick appears in the doorway with a smile on his face and a cup and saucer in his hand.
    “Good morning, Miranda,” he says. He sounds both happy and somehow a bit uncertain, as if he’s not quite sure of the sound of his own voice. With his shirt and waistcoat hanging open, he looks both innocent and effortlessly macho.
    “Good morning to you too. You’re still here then?”
    He pads forward barefoot and sets the cup down. A bit of its contents slop over the side into the saucer, and he makes a little sound of mild exasperation. The way he frowns and stares at the spilt tea is perfectly adorable.
    But Patrick himself isn’t perfect any more. My face cracks into a Cheshire Cat-like grin, and I want to leap up into the air and whoop for joy.
    My beloved isn’t precisely perfect because he’s human, like me, and he’s alive.
    “Yes, I’m here.” The little mishap forgotten, he sits on the bed beside me, his face wreathed in smiles as he reaches for my hand. “Did you ever doubt that I would be?”
    Did I? I’m not sure. Maybe for a moment here and there, but not when it mattered.
    “Perhaps a little bit.” I squeeze his hand. It still feels warm and reassuring and deliciously powerful and sexy. “I’m only human, you know.”
    We both laugh. “So am I now, I’m afraid.” He gives a little shrug, looking that little bit uncertain of himself again. “I hope that’s going to be enough for you, my love.” With his free hand, he reaches behind himself and rubs the back of his neck and his shoulder. “No wings, no special healing powers, no mindreading. We might find that I’ve magically acquired a fully formed life history from somewhere, as I understand it, but other than that, I’m just an average guy from now on. That’s all.”
    I stare at him, drinking him in. He looks far more than average to me. Okay, so he does have a few lines on his forehead and those laughter crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He’s far closer to my age than he was when I very first set eyes on him, but he’s still the most handsome creature I’ve ever seen. And his blue eyes are bright and intelligent and full of love.
    I can believe in him. I can trust him never to leave me. I love him, and I love what he did for me.
    “You’ll be just fine for me, my love.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m not perfect either, so we’ll make a pretty good partnership, I think. Don’t you?”
    He drags me into his arms and kisses me soundly as an answer, and his clever mouth and his demanding tongue are just as angelically sexy and provocative as ever. His touch, when he starts to explore me, is still heavenly too.
    Pretty soon, my nightdress is off again, and so are Patrick’s clothes. Arching back against the pillows, I claw at his shoulders, his strong, muscular non-winged