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 shoulders as he strokes me in rapid flicks and dabs and circles to my first orgasm.

“Still as good as ever,” I gasp, fighting to get my breath back as I descend. “Even without special powers.”

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, kissing my brow.

“Perfectly.”

“I’m not so sure of my tea-making skills though. That’s a very special art indeed and doesn’t come as naturally as making love.” He laughs against my skin and then nods lightly to the forgotten cup on the bedside table.

“Let me be the judge.” I sit up. Having a delicious climax before my morning cuppa has left me parched. Even if it’s cold and stewed, a sip of the tea will fortify me for the pleasures yet to come.

He hands me the cup. I sample the brew. It’s a bit on the weak side, but it’s still warm and it tastes like the most divine of nectars as far as I’m concerned.

“Needs work,” I tease. “But don’t worry, I’ll soon train you up.”

“I look forward to it,” he replies, taking the cup from my hand and setting it aside so I can concentrate on him again. “Let’s make love. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

As he starts to move against me, I suddenly have a question to ask. “How come you know how to do this so well, when you were a virgin until last night? Are there escapades in your angel past that you’re not telling me about?”

Curving his hand around my breast, he stares at me solemnly. “I’ll never lie to you, Miranda. There have been no others. But I was given a certain amount of human genetic memory to help me interact, and luckily it contained knowledge of sex and lovemaking.” He gives a little shrug. “Something I’ve been allowed to keep, although a lot of my other memories I’ve had to jettison.”

Part of the deal, I suppose. I scan his face for regret, but see none. “What did you have to give up, Patrick?”

He kisses my cheek, then my throat, before replying. “The millennia I’ve spent as what I was, precise details of where I came from.” Cupping my cheek, he looks into my eyes, his gleaming clear and blue. “But don’t worry, that’s for my benefit and yours. It would be difficult to live as a normal human man, the same age as you, when I had the thoughts and recollections and acquired knowledge of an uncountable number of years inside my brain.” He gives me a soft, reassuring kiss at the corner of my mouth. “As it is, we’ve been placed on what you might call an even playing field, my love, and from now on we can live together as equals.”

I surge against him, feeling happier and happier and luckier and luckier with every beat of his human heart. This is what I always wanted. A lover who is an equal match, in every respect. Not a much older man who’s going to die before I do. Not a younger man who’ll always cause me doubt.

I’ve finally found my perfect man. Or perhaps he found me when he fell from heaven into my life.

And as we start to make love again, I relish the years ahead.

About the Author

Portia Da Costa is a multi-published British author of romance, erotic romance and erotic fiction. Her novels have been published by a variety of different houses, both in the US and the UK, and translated into many languages including German, Spanish, Italian, Dutch, Norwegian and Japanese. Portia has been writing for publication since 1990, and has had over twenty novels and 100 short stories published. She has contributed to many different short story anthologies and women’s magazines. She lives in the heart of West Yorkshire, UK, with her husband and her cats. When she’s not writing she can be found reading, watching TV and movies, hanging out on Twitter, and enjoying online life in general. She was formerly a librarian and has also worked in local government. To find out more about Portia visit www.portiadacosta.com, find her at her blog wendyportia.blogspot.com or follow her at http://twitter.com/PortiaDaCosta


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