Jack considered. Had she come to tread, barefooted, over his throbbing heart again? Had she heard him talking to Thel?
It didn't matter. Having her here, talking, not saying something stupid like last time—that was what mattered. Please, whoever's up there, don't let me screw this up! "No," he said, choosing the words carefully. "You've given me too much to owe me anything, Rhea." He paused. "I'd like an explanation, but you don't owe it to me."
Rhea pulled a chair behind his desk and sat down by him. She reached out and took his hand in a steely grip. "Jack," she said intensely, "there are things in my past. Things you don't know about me. Things that make marriage very difficult."
Jack's throat tightened as all his worst speculations came back. "You don't have to tell me." He looked into Rhea's eyes, pools of emerald fire—a man could drown in there, or boil. "It doesn't matter what happened before," he said. "I don't care who you were, or what you were. You just have to believe that I will never hurt you."
"I know that, Jack," she said, her voice husky. Her eyes clouded with tears; she blinked them away. "I wasn't finished." She took a deep ragged breath and he smelled the sweetness as she exhaled. "It's very difficult, but I want to do it."
Jack sighed. "That's okay, I un—what? You want to do what?"
Rhea smiled suddenly, sunshine peeking through clouds. "I want to marry you."
Shadows vanished from the corners of the room; the cobwebs cleared from his mind. Jack's entire world narrowed down to her face in front of him. He was laughing as he threw his arms around her. They kissed, and for a minute, he knew again the simple joy of childhood—pure sensation with no thought of the future. Then it hit him: the ring! What had he done with it?
"Don't move," he whispered. He turned and began searching through drawers, frantically tossing aside the rubber bands, paper clips and dead ballpoints that seemed to breed in their natural habitat. There! Between the metric ruler and last summer's company picnic map. He grabbed the small box.
When he turned, though, the smile was gone from her face. "Not yet," she said, holding up a hand. "I want to marry you. That doesn't mean that you're going to want to marry me."
He stopped and waited.
"I do have to tell you, you see," she continued. "It's part of the agreement . . . and I have to tell you before we can have any sort of formal understanding between the two of us."
"Formal understanding?"
"Before I can say, 'Yes, I'll marry you,' you have to see me. Really see me, Jack. You have to know."
He nodded. Waited. Best to let her get around to it in her own way.
She swallowed hard. "I'm one of the Hellraised."
"I already knew that. What else?"
She looked shaken. "What else? What do you mean, what else? And what do you mean, you already knew?"
He shrugged. "I had my suspicions before—little things about you that just didn't quite add up. I knew for sure in Devil's Point, when the devils hurt you. They couldn't even touch me, but they cut you with knives." He smiled gently. "They couldn't have touched you, either, unless you were one of them."
She looked stunned. "You knew? You knew when you asked me to marry you?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, my God."
"I figured you had to realize I knew after our trip—when you turned me down I thought it was for some other reason. Like you didn't love me."
"But I . . . do. Love you. I just didn't see how you could love me."
"Well, I do."
"You love what you've seen so far." She closed her eyes, and the pain on her face was clear. "You haven't seen the real me."
She showed him. She shielded the room first, so that the Hellawatts it took for her to translate her human seeming back into her angelic form wouldn't show up on Hell's monitors, and then she shifted.
He caught his breath. She was both beautiful and terrible, a creature who bore the scars of unmeasurable pain and grief. Fear raced along his nerves like a jolt of lightning; from darkly glowing wingtips to fiery eyes and Hell-shaped body, she was the beautiful stuff of nightmare, seductive and terrible and overwhelming as a Giger painting. Logically, he knew he should be wanting to run for his life . . . but he could see her Hellish form and still love her—because she was this creature, but she was Rheabeth Samuels, too.
"Seen enough?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "Unless you have more you need to show me."
She changed back to her human seeming.
He nodded. He felt a bit shaky, but only in the knees—and that was just gut reaction. He looked at her, and smiled. "Fine," he said at last. "You've shown me what you were before I met you. I understand what I'm getting myself into. Now will you marry me?"
She reached behind her and he heard a metallic click. The door lock.
Rhea walked towards him, and began, innocently, to shed her clothes. Her skirt went first, falling soundlessly to the floor; then her blouse. Somehow she managed to step out of her panties without breaking stride. His overtaxed knees gave way at last, and he dropped into his chair. She slid onto his lap, wearing only a bra and a smile.
"I—I've got something for you," he managed to say.
"I can tell," Rhea said.
"I mean—"
"I know," she said quietly, and took the open box from him. She slipped the ring on her finger. "It's beautiful, Jack." She put the box down carefully. "Now, want to give me a hand?"
Jack reached behind her and opened the bra clasp. He had gotten pretty good at it. He pulled the flimsy red annoyance away from her and took in the sight of her the way nature intended. Well, maybe nature didn't have so much to do with it, but he didn't care. They kissed again, frantically this time. His hands roamed over the wonder of her and she returned the compliment. After what seemed like an eternity, but wasn't nearly long enough, she broke away.
Rhea stood and took the phone off the hook. "You're a little overdressed, don't you think?" She bent over and began working his shirt buttons.
It was a great angle to appreciate her from and he made the most of it, but at some point he had to get rid of his pants. He stood reluctantly and worked to get them down, past the natural obstruction that had developed. Rhea knelt in front of him and helped. After his jeans and jockeys slid to his feet, she kept on helping.
She looked up with a gleam in her eyes. "Okay, mister," she said, "on your back!" She pointed to the metal trolley table.
Jack touched it dubiously. "It's awfully cold," he said.
"We'll warm it up," she said. "In the meantime, better your buns than mine."
She was right, he thought later, when thought was possible again. He was warm now. He opened his eyes and looked up at Rhea, still astride him. She was staring dreamily into the distance, sweat beaded on her perfect skin. Her gaze focused suddenly. She looked startled, then giggled and waved. She rose up slowly, letting Jack slide free, then walked to the office window.
What? Jack sat up and looked out. Jan was in the parking lot making a frantic cranking pantomime with her hands. As Jack's head came above the sill, she waved at him, and gave him a big thumbs-up sign, then resumed her signaling. He could feel himself flush crimson as Rhea quickly cranked the blinds shut.
"How long was she out there?"
"Long enough to know the blinds needed shutting," Rhea laughed.
"But she saw—"
"Nothing she hasn't seen before. Besides, you're the one who's been on film. Anyway, I'll wager she would have kept everyone else away. And if not—"
Jack got off the table. "And if not, what?" he said.
She shrugged. "And if not, let's really give them something to talk about. C'mere you!"
"You're an evil woman, Rhea," Jack said.
"I'm trying to give up being evil," she said. "But I'll always be wicked."