Part 7

“Welcome to my humble home.” With an inviting gesture, and an equally inviting smile, Angel opened the door to a small, but well kept house, then switched on the light as soon as Buffy stepped over the threshold. He was a bit irritated by the fact that his hands trembled slightly. His hands never trembled. He had the most steady hands he could think of. And yet, right here and now, with Buffy Summers standing in the hall, looking around curiously, not only his hands were jittery.

“Nice,” she said after a moment, and turned her head to look at him. “I’m surprised.”

Unfortunately her face didn’t tell him if the surprise was good or bad. “Yeah?” he asked, suppressing the urge to shuffle his feet. Damn, he was feeling like a schoolboy eager to please his teacher.

“Yeah,” she nodded, her gaze sweeping towards the kitchen doorway. “It’s so,” this time she smiled when she turned to him, and Angel felt his stomach unclench, “normal.”

Normal? Again his gut knotted uncomfortably. Normal was good, right? Or maybe to a woman like Buffy Summers, with a successful career, a top class apartment, and an office some people would kill for, normal meant horrible, only she was too nice to say it openly. Not that Angel thought the house was bad. Compared to some apartments, he and Kathie had lived in, and that didn’t earn that name, this house was like heaven. “Normal, huh?” he said, shrugging off his leather jacket and throwing it over a chair. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It’s nothing fancy.” Hating the way it sounded, he took a deep breath, “Can I get you something. A drink?”

“I’d like a glass of juice if you have.”

She followed him into the kitchen. Angel walked to the fridge, that wasn’t one of those modern two door monsters, just a simple refrigerator. White, ugly, and not very big. Damn, what was the matter with him? He’d never lost a thought about kitchen furniture before. Suddenly it seemed terribly important, and all because Buffy was standing only some feet away.

Opening the door, Angel closed his eyes for a moment, glad his hands were a little bit steadier by now. Was it because she was older? He wondered. Or because she was successful with her job? He’d never had an inferiority complex. No, that was Parker’s part. Right from the moment he and his mother had come to live with Angel’s and Kathie’s father. But why was it so important that she approved of what she saw? She was an attractive woman. He wanted her, no denying there. But it wasn’t as if he was madly in love with her, was it? Besides, she had a boyfriend for goodness sake. She has said so herself. She’d come as a friend.

Forcing his eyes open he let them sweep around, “We have orange juice … and … orange juice,” he told her without looking up. A lot of people had nothing more than orange juice in their freezers. It was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Well, I think I’m going to have orange juice then,” came her amused answer, and Angel was glad to see her smile when he finally closed the door again, holding the pack of juice in his hand. He reached for a glass, “Are you hungry? Or do you want to see the paintings first?” Not that he was really eager to show her. It had been merely a way of getting her to accept his invitation. He really liked to paint, and he even liked the stuff he was painting. But after seeing the one her step-father had done, he felt like the worst kind of amateur.

She thought about the sandwich she’d eaten just before he’d been standing in her office, “I’m not in urgent need of food right now. Let’s see your work first.”

He handed her the glass, glad it didn’t slip from his suddenly sweaty palms, then poured one for himself. His heart pounding in his chest, he led her through the hallway to the stairs. “I’m painting upstairs,” he explained.

Buffy followed him, her gaze falling on a small painting on the wall, of a girl whose eyes were so much like Angel’s she had to be his sister. “How old is your sister?” she asked.

He didn’t turn when he answered, “She’s two years younger. She’s twenty-four, but going on forty,” he chuckled. “She’s currently writing her PhD, and works part-time for a Professor who teaches English literature.”

“I see,” she replied. He turned left at the top of the stairs. The top floor was lit dimly, but she could still see the worn carpet, the wilted wallpaper. Everything was neat and tidy, but it was easy to see that Angel wasn’t a rich man. Was that the reason he’d seemed so uncomfortable before. Did he think she would look down at him just because he didn’t have the kind of money she had?

He sighed suddenly, “I think she’s falling in love with him,” he said before opening a door at the end of the upstairs hallway, switching on the light. “Here we are.”

She blinked, having been too deep in thoughts about Angel, the house, his most recent behaviour, to follow his words. “Who is falling in love with who?”

“My sister,” he looked at her, and Buffy felt her insides flutter at the intensity of his dark orbs. “She’s falling in love with her English Professor. Or rather former. He’s older than she. A lot older actually.” Suddenly he grinned, and her stomach flip-flopped, “Must be something in our genes.”

She gave him an irritated look, then deliberately stepped away from him, and fully into the room. But the moment her eyes fell on the paintings she felt her jaw drop. Buffy stood as if rooted on the spot. The painting covered the walls, they were stacked in corners, they were piled on the single table. Only very few were framed. Some of them were half finished, as though the artist has lost interest or motivation. There were oils, in colours harsh and vivid, and watercolours - only a few - that looked as if they’d sprung from dreams.

For a moment she felt as if she’d travelled backward in time. True, this room was smaller than the one her step-father had used for his work, but it was the atmosphere, the way the brushes were lying on the table, the smell. She couldn’t really name it, but it was so achingly familiar, she felt her eyes water. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to relax until her emotions settled.

There was a scene from Paris, the Cathedral of Notre Dame. She remembered standing in front of it, not long after her disastrous relationship - if you could call it one - with Parker. Her parents had given her the journey as a gift, and she’d been in desperate need to flee from familiar surrounding. It had been in Paris where the healing started. An easel was set near the window, where the light would come in. A cloth was thrown over it. Obviously Angel didn’t want people to see it before it was finished. Her step-father had been the same.

Feeling the sudden emotions threaten to clog her throat, she said, “They are beautiful,” she said, not trying to hide the awe in her voice. “You said you weren’t as talented as my father, but …” she gave him a tremulous smile, “you are. Why didn’t you paint professionally?”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with her praise, a faint blush on his cheekbones, “I just never did,” he said. “I suppose it never came up.” He shrugged again, “Besides I hate the way a lot of people talk about art. They don’t know a single thing but they act as if they’re experts.” He forced himself to stay calm, not to show too openly how much her words meant to him. Not just because her father had been a gifted artist, but because she was important to him. He didn’t want her to see him just for the old house with the old furniture that screamed of barely overcome poverty, but for what he was, the man.

He knew she had reservations about him, had felt it from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other. She was older than he, more experienced, no doubt, sophisticated, rich - well maybe not rich, but certainly well settled, successful, and so beautiful his insides ached every time he looked at her.

“I know,” her voice was soft and Angel felt a shiver run down his spine. Maybe it hadn’t been the wisest idea to come up with her. They were standing too close, and he was severely tempted to forget all his good intentions and kiss her right here. But he had sworn himself to go slow, had already realised that she wasn’t one to rush

“And I’m not as talented as your father,” he insisted. His work wasn’t bad, he knew that. But it was nothing compared to the painting he’d seen at her home. “I never painted anything only remotely comparable to the one hanging in your living-room.”

“But you’re so young,” she replied. “My father painted it three months before he died. He had a lot more time to gain experience. Looking at this,” she gestured at the paintings, “in twenty years time you could be a genius.”

He chuckled and tried not to wince at her comment about his age, “Hardly. I do love to paint, but as I said, I’m not going to become a professional artist. I like to express my feelings that way, but I wouldn’t like my pictures to be taken apart, people giving them meanings they never had, looking for intentions that were never there in the first place. I still can’t stand going to museums and listen to people who discuss what this or that means and why the artist took yellow and not green. I could never explain my paintings. I just paint them. Feel them.”

“You don’t like them to be dissected,” she said, understanding in her eyes. She remembered her step-father saying something very much alike once. Again she felt her eyes water.

“Yeah.” God, her eyes were huge, and he was already drowning in them. He felt his fingers twitch and quickly stuffed his hands into his pockets. Otherwise he was going to reach for her. And that - he knew - would be a bad idea. Very bad. He could remember the wary look in her eyes, before she’d agreed to come with him. He wasn’t going to ruin this evening by behaving like a love-crazed teenager. He was twenty-six years old, almost twenty seven, he could keep his hormones in check.

But damn her lips looked tempting, so sweet and soft, and they were curved into the merest hint of a smile. The hands in his pockets balled into fists. “Maybe we should go down. So I can start to impress you with my cooking skills.” The smile widened, and he had to swallow. “You know …,” he stammered, “one of the …,” he swallowed again, his eyes locked into hers, “skills I mentioned.”

If she had done something, said something, he’d probably been able to keep his hands off her, but when she looked at him with those huge eyes and simply said, “Hmmm,” her voice like a hummed promise, her mouth more tempting than ever, he couldn’t help himself anymore.

Pulling one hand from his pocket, he reached out, cupped her neck and pulled her toward him slowly. He gave her plenty of time to move away, plenty of time to say something to spoil the mood or turn her head or order him to stop. She did nothing. She allowed him to draw her mouth to his, and she not only allowed him to kiss her, she parted her lips and closed her eyes in sheer delight, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

It was amazing, what the simple touch of the right man’s lips could do to a woman. She felt like melting butter. Her knees went weak, her entire body reacted to the kiss. She tingled, from the top of her head to her toes. She held on tightly and let herself be swept away. What she had seen in his dark eyes just before his mouth has descended onto hers, was what she felt, too. Tension. Electricity. Want.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been kissed recently. On the contrary. Riley kissed her regularly. But it was nothing - not even remotely comparable, to the sheer power she felt now. She felt Angel’s lips move over hers, in a soft tease, a silent whisper, his tongue swept into her mouth, stroking, while his teeth scratched the sensitive skin just beneath her lower lip. God, she was 34 years old and had never been kissed like that. How pathetic was that?

The kiss wasn’t even deep, or demanding, or forceful, but there was energy here, something beautiful and strangely elusive. Like a dream, like one of his watercolours, and in the back of her mind she knew that it was no more than that, and yet she wished this kiss would go on forever. When he finally pulled his mouth from hers, she couldn’t breathe. She felt that kiss to her very bones.

Oh, no. She couldn’t do this. Her eyes flew open, and she looked at him, his own eyes dark with barely restrained passion. God, what was happening to her? She thought about Riley, her steady boyfriend, the guy her mother wanted her to marry. She hadn’t even broken up with him, and yet she was here, in the house of man who was still a stranger to her, kissing him as if there was no tomorrow. A stranger, who was seven years her junior.

“Wow,” she heard him whisper and the deep timbre of his voice washed over her skin like hot velvet. She felt herself shiver, and realised her hands were still locked behind his neck. Quickly she pulled them away, forced herself to step back, and almost winced at the loss of contact. “You certainly know how to kiss.”

She laughed, nervously, “You’re not bad either,” she managed. “But … I … uhm … thought we would just meet as friends.”

She saw a flash of disappointment flicker through his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she was sure she’d simply imagined it. He straightened, and stepped away from her as well, retreated into the hallway. “Right. Friends.” He took a deep breath, “So, friend. What do you think about pasta and a glass of very good red wine?”

She followed him when he went back down the stairs and towards the kitchen, glad that he didn’t look back when she put her fingers on her mouth, still feeling them tremble with the power of his kiss.

Part 8

Kathie felt herself shiver when Wesley finally lifted his mouth from her lips. His eyes, still dark with something she couldn’t quite name, were gazing down into hers, his hands, tightly wrapped around her waist only seconds ago, let go gradually. None of them said a word, only their laboured breathing was audible in the small office. Her heart was still beating a mile a minute, and she still tried to understand what had been happening to her. Although she wasn’t a virgin anymore Kathie’s experience was nil, and the one time she had been with a man, or rather men, she would gladly wipe from her memory if something like that was possible.

As a result she had believed herself to be unable to feel for a man the way she did now. It had to be passion, she was sure of it, and felt a flush rise up her neck. She was twenty-four years old and didn’t have a clue what the look in Wesley’s eyes meant. Quickly she averted her own orbs in embarrassment, afraid he would laugh the moment he realised what she was thinking.

But he didn’t laugh, in fact he didn’t say anything, just put a finger under her chin and lifted it, so she had to look at him. “Kathie,” his voice was a little hoarse, but the look in his eyes she’d seen before was replaced by concern now. “Are you alright?”

Alright? No, she was not alright. She felt strange, unfamiliar, confused. And at the same time exhilarated. And the kiss had been incredible. Even with her limited experience she was sure that a kiss that made your head spin wasn’t anything that happened regularly. She’d heard her friends talk, about boys who didn’t know how to kiss, and she had listened to Angel and Gunn when they were joking. Nope. Head spinning wasn’t the usual stuff. “I … uh … I’m fine,” she managed.

She saw him release a breath, and a slight smile appeared on his mouth. She thought about the way it had touched hers only moments ago and the flush crept up her face. “I didn’t want to …,” he started, and her eyes sharpened.

“You didn’t’,” she asked, not able to hide the disappointment.

He laughed then, a sound tinged with relief, “No, that’s a lie. I cannot remember when I didn’t want to kiss you,” he admitted, his hands still touching her.

Oh my, she thought, swallowing hard. “Oh,” was all she could say.

“I’m glad you didn’t mind,” he told her, his palms moving up and down her arms, sending new shivers all over her body. “I mean the kissing part. I … uh … I’m old enough to be your father.”

“You’re thirty-eight,” she replied and smiled when she saw him wince.

“It’s so good of you to remind me,” he said but there was amusement in his voice. “Still there’s a great age-difference between us. And I’m … I mean you’re so beautiful and I’m not what one would call a prize.”

She knew she shouldn’t laugh at that, but couldn’t help it, “Oh, Wesley. I’m not beautiful. I’m … well, I’m a girl and nothing special.”

His hands stilled on her arms, tightened around them, “Yes, you are. Very special. Kathie you are …,” he was serious again, the smile completely vanished from his face, his eyes. “You’re so precious to me. I don’t … I mean … I’m not very good at this,” he laughed slightly, embarrassedly, “… this relationship stuff. I was a geek in school and college. The girls didn’t really line up at my doorstep. I … I’m sure there’s a string of boys eager to go out with you.”

She had to blink to keep the tears at bay. He didn’t have a clue how wonderful he was. Maybe he wasn’t the best looking guy in the universe, but did it really matter? From the moment she’d entered his office and he’d offered her the job of a part-time secretary she’d admired his mind, his knowledge. He’d never been anything but considerate, and he could be incredibly sweet at times. Like now. “That’s so sweet,” she whispered, “And no, there are no boys.”

“No boys?” he sounded, and looked so outraged, she had to smile through the water in her eyes. “Don’t they have eyes?”

“No, it’s … it’s not that,” she put a hand on his chest, her eyes widening when she felt his heart beat at the same furious rate as hers. “Some have asked me out, but I … I didn’t want to go. There are things … stuff happened in my life, I … it’s hard to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” he told her quickly, smiling down. “But … if you need … if you ever need someone … just an ear … I’m here.”

God, she was starting to bawl any moment now. She took a deep breath, “That’s … maybe I will … tell you, I mean. Some day. But not tonight. And just for the record. I don’t think you’re old. I never thought that way.”

“You might not, but I do,” he muttered, but she’d heard it nevertheless. Finally letting go of her, he stepped away, ran a hand through his hair, that, to her amazement, wasn’t quite steady. “Would it be alright if I drove you home?” he asked. “I know you usually take the bus but I have my car and -“

“Yes,” she answered quickly, giving him another smile. He smiled back and Kathie thought that she’d never seen a smile more beautiful.

*****

“This is really good,” Buffy said after swallowing her last bite, and gestured at the half empty plate in front of her. “A lot of garlic.” She grinned, “Tomorrow they’re going to avoid me at the office like the plague.”

“Good,” he grinned back, that adorable boyish smile she’d seen throughout the whole evening. She enjoyed seeing it, but it also reminded her of the age difference between them. “More wine?” he pointed at the bottle then looked at her questioningly.

“No, thanks,” she shook her head, “I still need to drive. But I’d like to have a glass of water, please.” He stood, and as she watched him reach for the glass, then fill it with water, she knew that driving her car was only half the reason for her refusal to drink more wine. True, she didn’t want to lose her driver’s license, but she also had to keep a clear head, which was not that easy being around Angel all the time. The way his shirt was clinging to his upper body, gave her a good idea of the muscles underneath, and his tight denims, riding low on his hips - she would have to be saint if her mouth didn’t water at the view.

Quickly she looked away, not wanting him to see right through her, “Do you cook often?” she asked, when he came back with her water.

“It depends,” he replied vaguely. “Kathie, my sister, likes to cook, too. Maybe a family streak. My mother was a great cook. We both had to learn it.”

Had to? Her head came up, and she wanted to ask what it meant, but his face had suddenly closed up, and she didn’t dare to ask. She changed the subject, “So, how was your weekend?”

He smiled, obviously relieved that she didn’t press him to reveal things he wasn’t ready to tell, “Boring. Annoying. Take your pick.”

“Sounds a lot like mine.” And it was true. Her weekend had been boring to put it mildly. Besides trying to get Angel out of her head, she had visited her mother, only to have to listen to Joyce’s endless praise of Riley, and when they would give her a wedding date. Not wanting to discuss the matter, Buffy had simply listened, but not given a comment. In the end her mother had been angry with her, telling her she didn’t know how happy she was having a man who obviously adored her. Buffy had left early, and spent Sunday evening at a fitness studio to avoid spending hours alone in her apartment.

Years ago she would’ve called Willow, her best friend from highschool, but Willow was living in England now, was a professor for computer science in Oxford, living a happy life with her lpartner, Tara. Buffy was happy for her best friend, but sometimes she was missing her badly, like last weekend. Of course, there was still Cordelia, but Cordy was never at home on weekends, always busy with a man, or with a party, or something equally exciting. The brunette’s life was never boring.

“It does, huh?” Angel gave her a compassionate look. “We were busy with a case and then …,” he shook his head, “I was trying to dig my way through paper work. People always think being a PI is exciting, but most of the time you’re just sitting in your office, trying not to fall asleep.”

“Why did you become a PI?” she asked, glad they had moved to save territory.

He shrugged, “The truth? I went to college, but because we didn’t have a lot of money I could only afford every other semester.” He reached for his glass, drank some more wine. “And there was Kathie. I wanted her to have the best education possible. When I was finally out of college, I met Gunn. We had lost contact, but we hit it off again, and … well, somehow we were sitting together, talking, and in the end we decided to open an agency.” He took another bite, “So far it’s not bad. We’ll see how it goes. I suppose we have to make it a success, for Fred if for nothing else.”

“Fred?”

“She’s our secretary,” he replied, swallowing his food.

Buffy was annoyed by the sudden pang of jealousy she felt at the thought of a girl in Angel’s office. It was completely ridiculous, of course. Why should she be jealous, and besides, she was the one who still had a steady boyfriend. Quickly she pushed thoughts of Riley away. She would deal with him tomorrow. “So Fred’s a girl.”

He nodded, “Yeah. We found her - literally - one day at our doorstep. She was in a terrible condition, her clothes torn, dirty, hungry. We couldn’t just let her lie there. So we took her in,” he grinned, “And she stayed. Now she’s made herself irreplaceable.”

The grin was more disturbing than she wanted. What exactly was his relationship to this Fred? “Is she … Gunn’s … uhm ..”

“No,” he grinned again, “She’s … I’m not quite sure. A friend, I guess. Our secretary, although she doesn’t actually do office work. However, she’s a wiz with the computer, and that’s something to be admired.”

Now it was her turn to grin, “Don’t tell me computers frighten you.” When she saw the embarrassment in his eyes, she laughed, “You’re supposed to be the young generation.”

“I can use one, okay,” he replied, annoyance colouring his voice. “But I … Kathie is good with them. Whenever I need something she helps. I get around, but I prefer not to use them. They’re,” his grin returned, “scary.”

They laughed and Buffy was about to comment, when the door opened, and they heard voices from the hall. One female, one male.

“I really don’t want to impose,” the man said, clearly uncomfortable with being here.

“You don’t,” the woman replied, laughter in her voice. “Hmmm. This smells wonderful, I bet Angel is cooking again and-“

A young woman stopped in the doorway, her curly dark hair tumbling around her heart shaped face, her dark eyes filling with curiosity at the scene before her. “Well,” she smiled at Angel, at Buffy, “Hello.”

“You’re late,” Angel replied without looking at her. “Buffy, meet my sister Kathie. Kathie, Buffy Summers.”

“And this,” Kathie stepped aside, revealing a man who was clearly her senior, “is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, my boss.” The beam on her face when she introduced him almost split her face. Buffy remembered Angel telling her about his sister’s attachment to an older man, and had a feeling that said man was standing right in front of her.

“Hey, Wes,” Angel stood, held out his hand for the guest. There was something in his eyes, Buffy couldn’t quite read, but she supposed it had to do with brotherly protectiveness. She barely stifled a grin. It was such a change from the witty, eloquent young man, to the older brother. But Buffy realised she liked it, it made Angel even more interesting.

“Are you hungry? There’s enough left.” Angel stepped back, his whole posture an invitation for the other man. Obviously Angel agreed with his sister’s choice.

“See,” Kathie smiled at her boss, “So, come in. Sit down. I’ll get you a plate and fork.” She shoved Wesley into the kitchen, and Buffy smiled at the man who didn’t seem quite sure if he should in fact sit down or rather run as fast as possible.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, returning Buffy’s smile. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meal.”

“Don’t worry,” she replied, hoping to ease his mind. It was painfully clear that Wesley wasn’t used to company. But it was equally clear that he adored Angel’s younger sister. The way his eyes followed her every movement, the way his eyes lit up whenever their gazes met, told more than words could.

Part 9

“I can’t believe I let you persuade me to do this,” Angel murmured, staring straight ahead, while trying to ignore the disturbing presence of the woman sitting next to him.

Keeping her eyes on the road, Buffy grinned, “It’s not that bad. It’s just a party.” He’d been grumpy ever since she’d picked him up at his house. Usually she didn’t like that in men. In Angel, however, it was simply adorable.

“A party,” he scoffed, still not able to believe he’d agreed to go with her. And that after she’d ignored his calls for ten days. It had to be worse than he’d thought. She’d all but ignoring him for over a week, but one snap of her fingers and he came running like a love-sick fool

He’d had high hopes after their dinner in his house. He’d been so sure she’d amused herself, that she’d liked being there. And then nothing happened. He’d tried reaching her, called her, left her messages on her mail-box. She hadn’t returned one single call. Not one. And yet, he’d kept trying. Usually he didn’t need more than one hint to understand his attention was wanted, but it seemed where Buffy Summers was concerned hints weren’t quite enough.

“Well, yeah.” She shifted the car into a higher gear, then pressed down the accelerator, a sure sign they’d finally reached the Highway. “It’s a party.” Not that she really wanted to go. But Willow was coming all the way from England, using the opportunity to see her parents, visiting old friends, and the redhead had practically forced her to come, too.

“A Highschool reunion,” he replied, shaking his head. He had to be out of his mind. Why on earth hadn’t he told her no? Because he’d wanted to go, he reminded himself. Everything was alright as long as he could keep her company. Even if it meant to go with her to a damned Highschool reunion. Yes, it was definitely a lot worse than he’d thought. Although he should’ve known it. There hadn’t been a night these past ten days when he hadn’t dreamt about her. In colour, and surround sound. One dream especially had him waking up sweating and aching - and forced him to take a cold shower in the middle of the night.

“You say it as if it’s poison,” she grinned again. “My time at Highschool wasn’t that bad. Actually it was quite good. I was Homecoming queen once.” She’d been a cheerleader, too. And May queen. But she didn’t want to brag, feeling that Angel wasn’t quite comfortable with the subject.

“Figures,” he muttered. It was only logical. She was a gorgeous woman, he could easily imagine what a beautiful girl she must have been.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” He straightened in his seat, took a cleansing breath. His own Highschool days weren’t anything he cared to remember. He’d still lived with his father, his step-mother, and Parker. And he’d hardly been able to wait until he was eighteen, which meant he could leave without asking his father’s permission.

“So tell me,” she said finally, keeping her eyes on the road, “What did you do these last days? Any exciting new cases?”

Angel knew she didn’t intend to sound like his older sister, but somehow the way she had asked the question irked him. Obviously she was determined to remind him of their age difference any way possible. Trying to keep his own temper in check, he frowned, “No. Nothing. As I told you, being a PI is mostly boring.”

“So you said.” She nodded, sighed, “My week wasn’t any better.” Actually it had been one of the worst weeks in her life. But she was determined to enjoy the evening, and not let an angry mother, and an even angrier ex-boyfriend ruin it

He was tempted to say it was her own fault for not returning his calls, but he bit off the words. Still, there was something he wanted to know. “Is the boyfriend back?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, he is,” she replied, and Angel saw her hands tighten on the wheel. He was back alright, and angry as Hell.

“Oh?” he turned his head slightly, “And why didn’t you take him with you tonight?”

“He had a late meeting at his office.” And that was the truth. No way she was going to tell Angel that she’d broken up with him, and Riley had taken it a lot worse than she’d expected. After shouting at her for about an hour, he’d left her apartment, then instantly called her mother. That had resulted in a late night visit from Joyce Summers, and more shouting. God, she wanted to pretend the previous week had never happened.

Oh, great! So he’d been the second choice, huh? Well, she certainly knew how to keep a guy’s ego in check. “I see,” he said tightly, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “And you didn’t want to go on your own?”

“No,” she shook his head, laughed a little, hoping it sounded natural, “No, I didn’t. It’s no fun. I can just see all the faces pitying me. No way I’m going to tell them I didn’t have a date because a business date was more important.” Or that I dumped my boyfriend because he was a real disappointment. She was thirty-four, had no ex-husbands, no kids, just broken up relationships that had never been really serious, and never lasted for a long time. Not a good track record to show on a Highschool reunion.

Did he hear anger in that statement? Could it be there were some clouds hanging over the relationship? He straightened even more, keeping an eye on her, wanting to see the expression on her face. “So you called me.”

“Hmmm,” she nodded again, “Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t return the messages you left on my mailbox, but I was so busy these last days. Partly thanks to your step-brother.” That had been the third reason why she’d had a week from Hell. Slimy weasel Parker was a pain in the behind, acting as if they were working for different companies, not for the same. Couldn’t he see that they weren’t enemies? At least not if it came to their job.

He ignored the comment about Parker, not eager to discuss his step-brother. “Busy, huh? Too busy to call once?” Damn if that hadn’t sounded bitter. He’d better learn to keep himself in check. He cleared his throat.

“I’m really sorry,” she repeated. And she was. Sorry. She’d been so tempted to call Angel, but after her break-up with Riley, and her confrontation with her mother, she’d been too raw to call him. And later, after sanity had returned, she’d taken a good look in the mirror and decided that there was no way a relationship with Angel could work. She wasn’t able to have one with a man her age. How was she supposed to hold on to one several years younger? Sure, Angel had agreed to be just friends, but she wasn’t stupid enough to believe it was possible. The attraction between them was almost palpable. But for tonight she would endure it.

She knew it wasn’t quite fair to use him that way, knew that he was seriously interested in her, could see it every time he looked at her. And if she was completely honest with herself, she had to admit that she could still feel the kiss on her lips, the kiss that had totally pulled away the floor under her feet. Yep, there was no doubt, she was equally interested in him. But that didn’t mean she would act on it. Not at all.

Damn. She swore silently. She had promised herself not to do that. No thinking about kissing. Or the way he smiled. He had a nice smile. One that made her skin tingle.

Stop it. Stop it.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too.” Sorry didn’t quite describe it. He’d been disappointed, although he’d tried to prepare himself for the rejection. He’d noticed her pulling back whenever she felt things got to close, had noticed the way she liked to point out their age difference. So he’d actually expected her to bail. But it had hurt nevertheless.

“But I needed a friend tonight,” she told him, “I’d really hate them all pointing at me, pitying me. Poor Buffy, no man for her tonight.” Plus spending a night with Angel was something she was looking forward to, even though she didn’t dare to investigate that feeling any further.

Friend, huh? It seemed she was really going to stick to the friend-thing. Well, it was up to him to convince her that being lovers was even better, that being friends was only a first step, boyfriends be damned. “Well, friend,” he said, forcing a smile on his lips, “then let’s enjoy the evening.”

*

It was exactly the way he’d imagined it. Maybe worse. The only good part was that he got to hold her in his arms while they were swaying over the dance-floor. Thank God, he had attended that dance class at college or he would’ve completely embarrassed himself. But thanks to his sister’s constant nagging, he didn’t stick out too much, although his leather jacket certainly wasn’t the standard clothing tonight. But he’d drawn the line at that. He wore black pants, and a white shirt, but had refused to wear a suit jacket, and had ignored the amused grin of the girl who’d taken their coats.

He’d take a lot more, he thought, to hold Buffy like this again. Her head was lying against his chest, her arms slung around his neck, while his own hands were touching her bare back. The black spaghetti-strapped dress she wore was ending at mid-thigh, and clung to her womanly curves like a second skin, leaving her back bare almost all the way down. He’d almost forgotten his name when she’d removed her coat, and he was still trying to recover from the shock the view had dealt to his system. For the first time he was glad he was wearing loose slacks and not his usual tight denims.

The same moment the music ended and her head came up from his chest, her eyes blinking almost sleepily, and Angel stifled a groan the very last moment. Would she look like that waking up, too? Images of Buffy lying naked between sheets shot in his head, making it spin. Jesus, he had to get a hold on himself.

“Buffy!”

Just in time to save him, a redhead came walking over to them, waving enthusiastically, a huge grin on her face. With her was a blond woman of the same age, who didn’t seem completely comfortable with being here. Well, he could relate to that.

“Willow!

Buffy’s face split into a grin as well, and then the two women were lying in each others arms, hugging tightly, sniffling. “Oh, Buffy,” the redhead said, “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” the blonde replied. “Oh, let me look at you.” Buffy pulled back, scrutinizing the other woman closely. “You look wonderful. Happy.”

“I am,” Willow beamed, reaching for Tara’s hand. “We are.”

“Hello, Buffy,” the shy blond woman said, smiling slightly.

“Hey, Tara.” Still wearing the huge smile on her face, she turned to Angel, “And this is Liam Sullivan.”

“Hi, Liam,” both women greeted him, Willow’s eyes wandering all over him, obviously checking him out. “Nice to meet you.”

“The same here,” he replied, liking Willow immediately. She was slightly taller than Buffy, with a paler complexion, but her eyes were intelligent, and very gentle. Tara, who obviously was her life-partner, seemed like a very nice person, too.

He would have liked to chat with them, and maybe hearing more about Buffy, but suddenly an arm came around Buffy’s waist, and a voice whispered, "Hello, beautiful."

Angel saw Buffy turn, then her eyes widen in surprise before a smile spread across herface, "Spike."

Spike? What sort of guy was called Spike? And why? Because of his sexual performance?

"Spike. That's so great to see you. You haven't changed at all."

Hadn't changed? The guy was old! And he was not very big. And skinny. What the hell did she see in him? And he didn’t even want to start on that bleached blond hair. The guy was in his mid-thirties, for goodness sake.

"I should take it as an insult," the blond man growled playfully. "But I don't. You have changed, baby. But only for the better." The man’s eyes swept approvingly over her barely covered body.

Her responding giggle was very feminine and the hairs in Angel's neck stood up straight. He coughed.

"Oh," she flushed prettily, "I almost forgot. That's Liam Sullivan, my date. Liam, that's Spike Stevens, a former classmate."

Angel forced a smile, "Nice to meet you," he said, but his voice was cold as ice.

Spike's return smile wasn't friendlier, "Liam."

"Spike was the guy who always wanted to date me. But I was terribly shy in Highschool. He was the bad boy. I wouldn't have dared dating him."

Bad boy, huh? And she’d been the Homecoming queen. Didn’t that just sound as if taken from a sappy romance novel?

“How about a dance?” Spike suggested, starting for the dance-floor. “You owe me one, you know.”

She laughed, “Okay, okay.” She gave Angel and her friends an apologetic smile. “Excuse us for a moment.” With that she let him pull her away, laughing again, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and Angel had to hold back a growl.

He almost jumped when suddenly a hand came to lie on his arm. Turning his head he saw Willow looking at him, her eyes full of amusement. “Don’t worry. They’re just dancing.” With a little tug, she pulled him with her towards the drinks. “And now,” she beamed at him, “tell me how it comes that Buffy never mentioned you in any of her e-mails. I have a feeling I missed a lot more than I thought.”

Part 10

“Now, tell me,” Spike said as soon as they had reached the dance floor, “where have you been during my lonely years?”

Buffy grinned up at him, not quite liking the little pang she felt because it weren’t Angel’s arms holding her now. This was not good. Missing Angel’s arms was bad. Very bad. She had convinced herself that it could never work between them. He was much too young for her, almost a baby with his 26 years compared to her 34. Women did mature earlier anyway. Besides, they came from totally different backgrounds. She’d seen such relationships. They always ended it angst and woe.

Finally realising that Spike was still waiting for an answer, she laughed, glad she’d found a distraction from his disconcerting thoughts “Working my ass off?” she laughed again when he raised a brow. “What? Didn’t expect that kind of language from me?”

“No,” he shook his head, astonishment in his eyes. She’d always been a pretty little flower, and he’d seen a lot of potential in her, but never - not in his wildest dreams - he’d expected her to grow into such a knock-out. She was not just beautiful, but all of her cried of class - and money. It didn’t need an expert to see that the jewels around her neck were no cheap copy. True, her family had always had money, but he knew other girls from similar families and they were nothing compared to her. Plus she radiated the kind of strength he admired. “But I’m all for surprises,” he added on a grin, suddenly feeling as if he’d never really seen her before.

“Are you now?” she asked, laughing again. She’d always liked Spike Stevens, even had a crush on him at some point, but he’d been taken already, and totally devoted to his girlfriend. Talking about his girlfriend, “How is Dru?”

Something flickered through his eyes, she couldn’t quite understand, but it was quickly gone, and Buffy was determined to have fun tonight, so she dismissed it. But she understood as soon as he answered. “We’re divorced. That also means we got married at some point. And it was good. Fun while it lasted. Then one morning we woke up and realised there was nothing left.” He shrugged, lifting one shoulder, “These things happen.”

She couldn’t hide her surprise, “I always thought you’d last forever.”

“Yeah,” he laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound, “But then, eternity is such a long time. When you’re eighteen, it seems possible, but when you hit thirty you see things differently.”

“Kids?”

“No, thank God. She always wanted a baby, but …,” he shrugged again, “it just didn’t happen. Looking back, I’m glad. I wouldn’t want a kid being stuck between us.” He frowned suddenly, all humour gone from his expression, “The separation wasn’t … nice. I hoped we could stay friends, but …” She almost saw when he pulled himself together, and forced a smile back on his face, “But that’s old news. I’d rather hear about you. Who’s the guy?” He nodded towards Angel who was standing with Willow and Tara, trying his best not to watch. She almost giggled when she saw him staring at his drink.

“Angel?”

“Angel?” Spike burst out laughing. “What kind of name is that?”

“His real name is Liam, okay,” she snapped, feeling oddly protective of him. His nickname had slipped from her tongue, and she knew how uncomfortable Angel was with it. And she remembered how much Spike liked to taunt people.

“Hey, hey,” he took one hand from her back, held it up, “Peace, okay. It wasn’t meant as an insult. But you have to admit Angel is pretty … unconventional.”

“Yeah, as is Spike,” she shot back.

“Touché,” he agreed. “So Angel … Liam, he looks like your little brother. Is he younger?”

Spike had always been one to find weak spots. And obviously he hadn’t changed. “And if he is?”

“Okay,” he grinned, “seems tonight I’m constantly stepping on your toes. How do you feel about a general apology?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then relaxed, “Accepted. Now, tell me, who is here tonight?”

*

“If you continue to look like that, they’re going to throw you out.”

Angel’s head snapped up, and he tried to focus on the woman beside him, giving her an apologetic smile. “What? Sorry, Willow, I didn’t listen.”

She grinned, liking Buffy’s date more by the minute. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Liam,” she put a hand on her arm, “Spike and Buffy never were an item. And jealousy is so out.”

“I’m not …,” he started, but at her knowing look, he let out a long breath. “Yeah, I suppose I get jealous. I’m sorry. I don’t even have a right to be jealous. Buffy and I … we’re friends. There is nothing …,” again that knowing look, and he finally smiled, “that is not to say I wouldn’t want, but she … I think she has a problem because I’m a few years younger.”

“Define few?”

“Seven,” he replied without hesitation. “But I … that’s just years. Numbers. My life has been - well, at least I think it was much more difficult than hers. I might be younger in years, but certainly not in life experience.” He sipped from his drink, risked another glance at the dance-floor. She was in the guy’s arms again, laughing. Why the hell had she asked him to come at all, he thought testily.

“Again with the murdering eyes,” Willow murmured and Angel quickly looked away. “Liam, you need to relax where Buffy is concerned. She never was one to be pushed.”

He couldn’t suppress a laugh. Willow certainly knew her friend. “Oh, I know that, believe me. But I’m … I don’t know how to make her see that years aren’t an issue.”

She was still in the guy’s arms, dancing even closer now. He felt his stomach clench painfully, felt the anger burn in his gut. Had she only taken him to show him she didn’t need him at all? No. He dismissed the idea instantly. Buffy wasn’t like that. The woman he had gotten to know wasn’t an unfeeling bitch. She was sweet, vulnerable, and almost shy. At least that’s what he had seen that day in her office, and at his house. She usually tried to keep up a strong front, but he had seen beyond it. Was she maybe pushing him back because he’d seen too much? Did she think he would hurt her, now that she’d let her shield down?

The thought was like a revelation, and he looked up, seeing her with new eyes. And what he saw was Buffy in Spike’s arms, her shield firmly in place. She was showing her strong front, the tough business-woman, while being with him, Angel, she hadn’t been able to hold it up. He couldn’t help the smile creeping up his face.

“What?” Willow demanded beside him.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, chuckling slightly. “I’m sorry for … Anyways. So how come you and Buffy are such good friends?”

She beamed at him, “That’s the spirit,” she said approvingly, “Alright then, let me start with the day Buffy came to our Highschool…”

*****

Kathie shut down the computer at her office, then looking up she frowned at Wesley’s closed door. It was already half past five, and he hadn’t made an appearance since lunchtime, and that was highly untypical for him. At least ever since they’d kissed in this office, and since she’d taken him home to dinner.

Ever since then their relationship had undergone a drastic change.

Kathie couldn’t remember ever having been so happy before in her life. For the first time she was in love, truly, madly, deeply, and she wanted to burst with happiness. And Wesley seemed the same. Gone was the reserved professor, the cool Englishman, and he was replaced by an attentive friend, who laughed a lot, and who was taking her out for dinner, or just a cup of coffee. They were talking a lot, and laughing even more. And it was heaven.

He hadn’t actually said anything about his feelings, but she would’ve been blind not to see that he liked to be with her, that he enjoyed her company, and that he liked their discussions about literature, or the world in general. And Kathie was determined to show him that age difference was not a problem with them. She desperately wanted him to see that she could be an equal partner, in mind - and in body.

Not that they had even attempted to take that step. No, Wesley was the perfect gentleman. He’d kissed her again, twice even, but he had never tried to take it any further. A part of her was glad for it, for she was still not quite sure how she’d react to such attention, but she could also feel a nagging disappointment, a very feminine longing, to be united with the man you loved. And that frightened as much as it excited her.

Did the excitement mean that she was finally over her fear? That she was finally - after years of panic and nightmares - free to feel like a woman again? Normal? God, the word sounded too good to be true. But on the other hand, could she really trust this feeling? Or would she freeze the moment his hand touched her skin, the moment she realised this wasn’t going to end with a kiss and a smile? God, she was still such a mess. Even after all those years this one night still haunted her, still wouldn’t let go.

“Kathie?”

Forcing herself back to the present, she turned to see Wesley standing in the door of his office. “Yes?” she managed, glad her voice sounded normal and firm.

“Would it be okay if you took the bus tonight?”

She narrowed her eyes, his voice sounded - different. Tired. He had driven her home each night the last ten days, so this was new, too. “Sure. I already told you, you didn’t have to drive me all the time.”

“No,” he shook his head, and for the first time she saw the shadows of weariness in his eyes.

Instantly alert, she stood, walked to him. There were lines around his mouth she hadn’t seen during lunch. Bewildered she reached for his arm, “Wesley? What happened?”

His eyes were slightly unfocussed, and although he was looking at her, Kathie had the feeling he was more looking through her. Panic rose quickly, “Wesley?” Her voice was sharper now, concerned.

“Nothing.” He absentmindedly patted her hand, gave her a fleeting smile. “Everything is alright. Or it will be. Soon.” He gave her another of this fleeting smiles, then turned to walk back into his office.

But she was having none of it. She held on to his arm, forced him to look at her again, “Wesley, you’re scaring me. Are you ill? Is it your family? Is someone hurt?” She knew he still had parents living in England. Maybe something had happened to one of them.

He looked at her for a long moment, before he closed his eyes, rubbed them, and sighed. “No, they are fine.” When he opened his eyes again, they were bleak, “You’re going to hear it sooner or later anyway, Kathie. So it might very well be sooner.” A second, heavy sigh followed the first, “And I would understand if you don’t want to be here anymore, I mean-“

“Wesley, tell me,” she demanded, panic knotting her gut into a tight ball. “Tell me!”

“I’ve been temporarily suspended from my position,” he said finally, and then he locked his eyes with hers, “A student has accused me of sexual harassment.”

Go to Part 11