Crystal Jordan - Believe in Me

Cedarville, Oregon

Not all people need a guardian angel to find their soul mate. Then again, not all people have a soul mate. Guardians are only assigned to the ones who needed a little extra guidance, a push, some encouragement.

In other words, Tori Chambers worked with the lost causes. The stubborn, bitter, damaged, scarred, wary pains in the backside who needed to have a cattle-prod taken to them in order to get them into a headspace where they might actually fall for their soul mate. In ideal circumstances, only one of the two soul mates needed the help of a Guardian.

She was not currently operating under ideal circumstances. No, this assignment was a total bitch.

Hitching herself into a chair at the one and only beauty salon Cedarville had to offer, Tori dug a magazine out of her enormous handbag and began flipping through pages while she ran the details of this hellish job through her mind. She had a never-married-but-three-times-engaged and thrice-burned firefighter whom she'd been doing her level best to prod, cajole, kick and encourage to hook up with a twice-divorced hairstylist.

Mason Delacroix and Celia Occam.

Tori was holding up her end of the bargain, and for the first time she was damn thankful for having a stubborn client, because once Mason had decided he was interested, he'd latched on like a terrier and refused to let go. The problem was he was just determined to get in his soul mate's pants. He had no desire for a relationship, and there wasn't going to be a relationship if Celia's Guardian didn't get off her ass and do her job. It had been a year and Celia hadn't budged in her refusal to even consider a date with Mason.

Desperation twisted deep inside Tori. How much longer would she get before this assignment was considered a failure by the Powers That Be? Her belly looped into an even tighter knot. She couldn't fail. She just couldn't. With what happened to Guardians after they'd failed

Fuck. Tori bit back the urge to spew the curse aloud, along with a few other creative, spleen-venting invectives. People would be horrified if old Mrs. Chambers ripped loose with the kind of swear words that Tori wanted to use. If she had known she'd be stuck in this little 'burb so long, she wouldn't have played a gossipy old biddy. At the time, she'd needed to be someone Mason wouldn't be interested in, so the role fit. Now, she just wanted to look like herself again for five whole minutes. She also wanted to get laid again, but a harmless old lady wouldn't have the kind of all night long stamina Tori did, which was at least what it would take to burn off the frustration of months and months of no sex.

She crossed her legs to squelch the need she couldn't do a damn thing about and flipped another page in the magazine while she waited for the new stylist at Occam's Razor to come fix her hair. Not that she cared about the white bun that coiled around her head. She was here to witness round one million in the battles of the sexes, when Mason had his weekly appointment with Celia to get his head shaved. He had a face and body that would put Vin Diesel to shame, and Tori had no idea how the woman had managed to hold out this long. She was ready to jump him herself. A sigh eased past her lips. As if she would. Guardians were strictly forbidden from fraternizing with their clients, and that went double for Guardians like Tori who influenced matters of the heart. However, other humans and other angels were fair game.

Unfortunately, the humans who would be interested in old Mrs. Chambers weren't exactly lighting Tori's fire. She wrinkled her nose.

A sharply drawn breath dragged her gaze up to the mirror, and she saw the reflection of a man frozen just behind and to the side of her. A man so flamingly gay, she had to bite her lip to hold back a grin. He was really working the stereotype in an over-the-top kind of way. Knee-high boots, tight silver pants and a black button-up shirt that hugged his painfully skinny body. He even wore eyeliner to make his silver eyes stand out.

Those eyes. God, she knew those eyes.

The hairs rose on the back of her neck, and she slowly turned her head to stare at a man who looked nothing like his reflection. Looking directly at him, she could see through the glamour that Guardians showed the world. She could see the man, the Guardian, as he truly was. Tall, broad, muscular, with dark hair that was just a little too long, and a face that was just a little too craggy to be handsome. But those eyes. Deep unfathomable silver pools. They were powerful, compelling, magnetic. They dragged at something deep inside her, wrenching at her very bones.

Vitoria, he rasped. He rolled the r in the traditional Spanish pronunciation of her name, just the way he had the first day she'd met him over a century and a half ago. He'd even managed to keep the soft twang of his Texas accent.

God help her. Not him. Anyone but him.

Jericho.

Jerry, you know Mrs. Chambers? Celia's head cocked to the side as she studied them.

The world snapped back into focus, and Jericho shook himself. He glanced in the mirror, taking in Tori's altered appearance. Looking directly at her, he would have been able to see through her glamour as easily as she'd seen through his. For him, there would be wide amber eyes, long ebony hair, and golden skin rather than the pale features of Mrs. Chambers.

He flapped a dismissive hand at the other stylist, working the gay angle like nobody's business. Oh, the two of us go way back, don't we, sweetness?

Yeah. Jerry. Tori almost grinned at his performance before his long, callused fingers lifted to slide her hair out of its knot. The smile died before it fully formed, and she tensed to still the automatic shiver of pleasure that wanted to ripple through her.

No. A thousand times no. She was not going down that road again. It was because of him that she'd been stuck a Guardian for more decades than she cared to count. Hell, it was because of him that she'd died in the first place. Because she'd loved him and he'd just used her for sex, for revenge against her brother, for any number of reasons he'd never bothered to share with her, but none of them were the love she'd craved.

Go out with me this weekend. Mason's deep voice yanked Tori out of her unpleasant trip along memory lane. He flashed his most charming smile at Celia, who didn't so much as pause before she shot him down. The woman was on autopilot. Shaking her out of that would be tough, but from the look of things, that was Jericho's problem now. Tori sighed.

Celia kept her gaze glued to the razor she was using to scrape away the stubble on Mason's head. No can do, champ. I'm leaving tomorrow for a hair show and won't be back for a week. Jerry can give you your regularly scheduled scalping while I'm gone.

Mason cast Jericho a disgruntled look, and the other man just shrugged, swirled a silver cape around Tori's shoulders, and then continued to fuss with her hair.

She's leaving? Tori hissed, frustrated at yet another delay in a long line of them. At least this time she could take it out on someone. If anyone deserved her ire, it was Jericho. How is this you doing your job?

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, he murmured. And you could try believing in me, for once. I know what I'm doing.

Any response she might have made died on her lips when his rough fingertips slid against her skull, and her involuntary shiver couldn't be quelled this time. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, her lungs seizing as her long-denied hormones rioted. Heat and lust spun through her so fast it left her reeling, and all he was doing was gliding his fingers through her hair.