The Archangel's fingers traced the absent lines of her face, her lips and eyes and forehead, reading the truth in it, the appreciation. He looked away without lowering his hand, his throat and jaw working for a moment before he answered.

"It's a gift," he said, a little thickly, and drew up the veneer of a leer and a laugh--though not enough of one to actually turn toward her. "Believe you me, I'm a master at making hot chicks enjoy coming."