A/N: A quick warning: I know my last two stories, though not so much on content, were rated R. I like to play it safe. I feel like this story, however, earns its rating, and it does so starting in this chapter. The content’s not super graphic (and probably won’t be too bad at any time), but sex is sex. And comparatively, there’ll be way more in this story than in any previous. But what do you expect when the two main characters are, in essence, voyeurs? grins

Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far, and especially to those who’ve been understanding with my decision to put one story on hold in order to work on this one. Thank you guys so, so much!

Part One: The Skeptic

Chapter One

Two months, twenty-eight days remaining

With a travel mug in one hand and a new box of BC powder in the other, Gavin barreled into his office. Jules jumped as the door slammed against the wall, and she nearly spilled nail polish all over her desk.

Gavin pretended not to notice. “Who’ve I got today?”

Jules capped and stashed the bottle into a drawer as she spoke. “A new consult with Charles Payton at two.”

Gavin stepped around his own desk in the corner and dropped his handful. “Payton?”

“Suspects his wife’s doing more than just aerobics with her trainer.”

Gavin signaled he was beginning to remember. It was hard to think with an elephant herd stampeding inside his head though. “The trainer’s a woman, isn’t she?” he asked.

“That’s the one.” She walked over and dropped a manila folder on his desk. “Of course you’ve got Mrs. Wilson first. She’ll be here in an hour to get the dirt on her hubby.” She turned and cast a smirk over her shoulder. “Oh yeah, and just so you know, Old Lady Marcconi called. Again.”

Gavin scoffed and slid the Marcconi file to the bottom of his stack as he plopped down, wincing when his chair squeaked. The thought of trying to take BC with black coffee made his stomach do a warning flop. With a moan he covered his eyes - the light from the window felt like he’d impaled his head on a light saber - and leaned back in his chair.

“Close those fuckin blinds,” he said, jerking a thumb behind his head.

“Don’t start that shit with me, Gavin. I’m not your wife.”

Talk about starting shit, he should have known Jules would sling it at him first thing. “You used to be.” He braved the sunlight, cracking one eye open. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

The indignant sound she made answered his question. Maybe she would’ve been less bitter if she had been his first, or even second, ex-wife. Then again, Jules was a textbook just-turned-twenty, a class-A bitch by her own declaration. She’d earned the title too, from the day he hired her last summer to three months later when he married her to six months after that when she threatened to clear him out on alimony if a divorce meant she’d lose her job.

He wondered only for a moment why he married Jules in the first place, the Hugh Heffner parallel aside. Then she turned on a spiked heel. The saucepan stir of her hips worked the hem of her short skirt up another inch as she sauntered back to her side of the room. Right, that brought his primary motivation back with groin-tightening clarity. The illusive potion she mixed between those shapely legs had proven too tempting to resist back when she’d claimed, contrary to her sorority girl appearance, she was saving herself for her future husband. It clued him in, of course, that Jules would turn out to be a clingy stickler for fidelity. Yet he chose to go against his better judgment. God only knew how they lasted as long as they did. Then again, their former relationship translated into one more desirable for him at present. He expected Jules preferred the new arrangement as well. She had yet to resign as his secretary, anyway.

With his mind on that track and his senses adjusting to the chronic headache, he managed to open both eyes. He squinted at Jules, letting his head loll toward the window, his expression helpless. “Please?”

Her don’t-fuck-with-me look faltered, tainted by a visible desire to satiate her two biggest weaknesses, ones he knew better than anyone. Jules preferred older men, and a foreign accent melted her down faster than a snowball on the sun. Being fifteen years her senior, in good shape, and an Australian native made Gavin the only man to date who filled those requisites. Hence why she stuck around now, despite her new boyfriend’s repeated pleas for her to quit.

As expected, she stood and swung the office door closed, her face shifting between disdain and arousal. Her hands smoothed her skirt down as she made her way over, though it bunched up all over again as she planted one knee on the armrest of his chair. Then she stretched herself over him, reaching for the string on the blinds while not-so-accidentally positioning her breasts over his face. The blinds rattled and dropped, masking her gasp as he grazed one hand over her - he raised an eyebrow - totally bare ass.

Well, well, well. He should have known what she wanted the minute she copped an attitude. It had always marked the initiation of foreplay; apparently the new boyfriend hadn’t changed the rules of engagement. A quick bra check proved Gavin correct. She wore one, but it was the black push-up he himself had bought her. He knew the flick-of-a-finger front clasp anywhere. He demonstrated by liberating his second-favorite thing about Jules through the fabric of her blouse.

Jules bucked and moaned as Gavin’s hands and mouth roamed over her body, clearing buttons and zippers as needed. Her new lover should thank him, really. If not for him, either the new guy would have ended up as Jules’s sacrificial lamb in exchange for sex, or the poor kid would be walking around like an incurable Viagra mishap. A photo-finish in Gavin’s mind, choosing which scenario would be more inhumane. He knew the majority of men who managed to snag a semi-starry-eyed virgin wrestled with guilt if they broke one or two vows. Still more men feared divorce, the female equivalent of declaring a lifelong blood feud in the name of revenge. Lucky for them, Gavin possessed no such hang-ups. And neither did Jules, now. She still liked the couple charade, but she knew what counted, and she went for it.

As he slid into her, she threw back her head and cried out a string of curses, all related to how much she wanted him and how much she hated him for it.

He chortled against her neck, then followed up with a series of thrusts which turned his ex-wife’s words into gibberish. Maybe it was true. Maybe she despised him, which suited him just fine. She could save all the frilly bullshit for the boyfriend she was supposedly in love with. As for Gavin, he planned to stick with the tangible human connection. The kind he could touch and taste, the kind he could prove, and the only guaranteed cure he’d found for recurring migraines.

Indeed once his erection broke the critical threshold, the pain faded and he stopped thinking, period. It only lasted a little while though. His brain struggled back to life while Jules had yanked her skirt back into place and wiped the mascara from under her eyes. She scowled but stayed still so Gavin could fasten a button she’d missed. Then she hustled across the hardwood floor and grabbed her purse, slinging it over her shoulder.

“I’m gone,” she said without looking at him.

Gavin was already shuffling through his desk in preparation for his meeting with Mrs. Wilson. “Say hello to your boyfriend for me.”

The click of her heels stopped, and he glanced up. For reasons which escaped him, she looked righteously pissed off.

Her hands and voice shook. “Fuck you, Gavin.”

He offered her his Boss-Man expression, cool and businesslike. “You just did.” He went back to rummaging. “Of course I’m not against a double-header, but I’m not as young as I used to be either.”

There was the hiss of air sucked between clenched teeth followed by the door slamming hard enough to make the grate over the vent rattle.

Gavin shook his head and began sorting his notes, photos, and video log on Arthur Wilson. At least Jules got rid of his headache before causing a racket. Her irate departure still annoyed him however. She was the one who came into work, spread herself wide open in his lap no less, wearing a skirt and nothing beneath it. How many times had she done the same thing while they were married? Three times a week, at least. So what if they were divorced now? She liked having sex with him. Since she was his favorite ex-wife so far, he saw no problem indulging her. She need not worry he’d interfere with whatever other relationships she pursued, so what was with the attitude all the sudden?

“She still loves you.”

Gavin jumped, his chair rolling back until it hit the wall. For one moment he wondered why he never heard the newcomer enter. Everything echoed off the walls in his office, including footsteps.

It took another moment for him to realize the door, which locked automatically, was still closed. “How did you get in here?” he asked, his eyes shifting back to the...

Good God, did he just have an aneurysm or something? If so, he stood corrected on his longstanding claim that there were no such thing as angels.

The woman tilted her head to the side, spilling blue-black hair against the gray cabinet. “You were wondering why your ex-wife’s upset, yes?”

He blinked. “How do you know about that?”

She shrugged back. “It’s because she still loves you,” she said, her eyes narrowing a fraction, “and she hates herself for it.”

Her melodic voice sounded equally angelic. Her statement, however, brought him back to reality and refocused his thoughts. “So you know Jules?”

The woman nodded.

“Did she let you in here?”

Her head swiveled side to side while her foggy blue-white eyes remained fixed.

No. Okay, now he was starting to wonder about this lady. Did this girl think it was Halloween or something? Looks only got people so far, and he did have a client on the way. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got an appointment.”

To this, the woman smiled like a stained-glass guardian painted in the windows of a cathedral. “No you don’t.”

“I don’t,” he repeated dryly.

“You don’t.” The woman traded her perch for the chair in front of Gavin’s desk. She scooted it forward so she could rest her elbows on the edge.

Gavin stared, baffled, as she blatantly studied every paper and picture between them. He scooped them into a pile, casting a wary look at the annoying visitor as he shoved them into a drawer. Damn it all, he’d just put those in order too. “Unless you scheduled an appointment, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“I can’t do that,” she said.

Great. The sexiest woman around, and she turned out to be a head case. “Let me rephrase that. Get the fuck out of my office, or I’ll call security.”

A broader smile appeared, revealing a flawless row of teeth. She reached out and took the phone off its cradle. Clearly enjoying his confusion, she held it out to him, balanced on her index finger. No words needed; he got the message. She was daring him to do it, even though he could think of no good reason for her actions.

His hesitation lasted less than a second. Fine, if she wanted to be bodily removed, he would oblige her. It was just as well. He also needed to have a word with somebody about replacing the lock on his door.

He plucked the receiver from her finger and positioned his hand over the numbers. He let them hover, giving her one last chance to leave on her own. Instead of taking advantage of his generous offer, she propped her head up in her hand like a bored schoolgirl during study hall.

What the hell was wrong with this woman?

“Although I appreciate what you’re doing, I don’t have all year,” she said when he pulled his hand away.

Her brow furrowed one moment, then relaxed. She stood and, to his utter amazement, dialed the security desk for him. He managed to collect himself when someone picked up on the other end of the line, and after an assurance two people were on the way, he hung up. Still he found it hard to do more than stare at the woman seated in the wooden chair like it was a throne.

“You know, I’ve been in this business for a long, long time, so there’s not much that surprises me anymore.” He chuckled, a combination of admiration and regret. “But you, you broke the monotony, I’ll give you that.”

Her smile wavered. “I believe the saying mortals use in a situation like is, You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Before he could note the odd reference to mortals, her eyes darted to the side. “Do you like jokes, Gavin?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I have one for you.” Her hands fell into her lap. “Knock, knock.”

Why the hell not. “Who’s there?”

She pointed over her shoulder, toward the door. “Security.”

He opened his mouth to follow up, but a fist thudding against wood stopped him short. Even more unsettling, she shrugged off his suspicious glance. Her smug demeanor exhausted what remained of his patience with this bizarre interlude, and he yelled for the guys in the hall to come in. One of the dipshits jiggled the knob, then called back to tell him the door was locked.

He glared at his unwelcome guest, and she spread her arms wide in response. Another silent taunt. Even if he took his eyes off her and answered the door, she had nowhere to flee, so what was he waiting for?

“Call it a hunch,” he said under his breath. To himself, not her.

She still blinked a few times, confidence replaced by surprise. Then her fog-colored gaze hardened. “There’s only one way to find out if you’re right.”

A valid point. The building manager had a spare key, but it would take longer to get it than he wanted to wait. Besides, she had no escape route, save for the window. No way she could get it open and slip down the fire escape without either the security guards or Gavin himself noticing. Then they would cut her off, and she’d go to jail rather than suffer a simple, slightly embarrassing escort through the lobby.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” He stalked halfway across the room, then spun around. She side-saddled her seat, propping her chin on the back of the chair, completely at ease. That made him even more nervous. “No swan dives off my fire escape or some crazy shit like that,” he said.

“No swan dives,” she said with a childish bob of her head.

He rubbed his eyes and turned back to the door and the waiting security guards on the other side. Insane, totally insane. She had to be. There was no other explanation. Which meant turning her over to specialists qualified to help a person in her condition was in everyone’s best interest. She needed help before she hurt someone, namely herself.

He looked back one more time before opening the door, and she winked. Then he let the guards in and directed them to the chair.

The empty chair.

The cluttered but unchanged, otherwise unoccupied office.

For a split second he wondered if he’d imagined the last ten minutes. No, he hadn’t imagined it, but where the hell did she go? He ignored the security guards’ repeated inquiries and scanned the room. The vinyl cushion of the chair she sat in still showed evidence of her weight. So she really had been there. That was a relief. Just in case, he peered around the side of the filing cabinet and under his desk.

Nothing. Somehow the woman had slipped away, proving she wasn’t just crazy, but cunning-crazy. Cunning or not, though, even idiots like these two would remember a woman who looked like her.

After learning both guards had been on duty for several hours, Gavin offered a quick description. How many early-to-mid twenties, runway model types could have come into the building over the past half hour? Unfortunately, both men looked at each other like Gavin had just described every woman they’d seen.

Fine, more specifics then. “About five-ten. Long, straight black hair. Dark complexion, like she’s Spanish or Italian. Italian if I had to venture a guess. Not like she was from New York City. From Italy, Italian. She has a slight accent.”

The guards showed no signs of recognition. Then Gavin snapped his fingers. Of course, her eyes! “She was wearing those contacts that make your eyes look like there’s hardly any color in them.” Gavin said a silent thank you when the younger guard’s eyes widened, and the kid nodded. “Yeah, considering how dark the rest of her features are, you couldn’t have missed her.”

“No doubt,” the young man said. Then he shrugged. “Sorry, but no one like that’s come in since I got here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Both men shook their heads, and Gavin ground his teeth together to keep combusting. He stood corrected. These two clowns were part of a unique breed of idiot.

After some bargaining about who would pay for changing his locks and a promise to not tell anyone they let him go into the security booth, the older guy agreed to let Gavin scan the day’s surveillance tape after they switched it out the next morning. Though he rather not wait, it was the best he could do at the moment. Gavin thanked the two before showing them out. Once he closed the door, the younger guy confirmed the lock had engaged this time.

Relieved, Gavin sighed and dropped his head against the door. A little excitement was fine, but he’d had enough for one day. He had work to do. Affairs to reveal, alternate lifestyles to uncover, and so on. He did an about-face and took one step toward his desk before he froze, his eyes wide.

It was impossible, but there she was, sprawled along the window seat. The blinds were up again, and she looked out while tracing invisible pictures onto the glass with her finger.

“Your office has a great view,” she said as though she’d been waiting there all along.

She rolled her head from the window and rested her specter’s gaze on him. He stared back, then looked at the phone.

The re-intruder snickered. “Go ahead, but I won’t be here when they come, and I bet they won’t even bother a third time.”

His eyes returned to her. “There won’t be a third time,” he said, feeling for the phone until he found it. “I’ll have them get the spare key before they come up.”

With a smirk, she said, “Go ahead, but I won’t be here when they open that door. And yes, I will come back the minute they leave.”

Their exchanged stare became a battle of wills. Gavin relented, but only to check his watch. Damn, he was lucky Mrs. Wilson was running late. No time to screw around. He needed to get this woman out of his way before a paying customer arrived.

He let go of the phone. “Listen, lady, I don’t know who you are, but-”

“Cupid.”

He paused. “Cupid?” She nodded, and he let out a slow breath. No wonder the woman had problems. “That must’ve been hell when you were a kid,” he said, making his way to his chair.

“I’m not called Cupid. That’s what I am, a cupid. You can call me Roxy.”

A cupid named Roxy. Wow, he’d never heard that one before. He dropped into his chair. “Okay, Roxy, what can I do for you?”

She sprang to life, giving up her seat on his desktop and turning it into a lean-on. She shifted his pens and PDA out of the way, and she rested both forearms against it so her upper body reached halfway across the surface. His attention immediately traveled from her face, down her neck, to her drooping neckline.

She seemed not to notice. “Here’s the deal,” she said. “I need you to fall in love. Well, that, and to stop ruining it for everyone else.”

“Of course. You’re a cupid, so I have to fall in love.”

She blinked several times. “Well, yes.”

His brain and mouth headed in opposite directions. His mind focused on how perfectly proportioned the areas of her body were in relation to one another. A woman molded by the hand of God Himself would have paled in comparison. Perhaps she’d used those assets to keep herself out of an asylum. If she was harmless, and his gut told him she was, no man in his right mind would send her away. Especially not if she proved as persistent before as she was acting for him. After all, she had searched him out. He was no predator, just willing to capitalize on a budding opportunity.

As for her psychosis, he saw nothing wrong with it, really. In fact, it was kind of endearing in context. Her story would sound more plausible though if she called herself a goddess. Venus, Aphrodite, or maybe Persephone. He’d gladly steal her away, fill the role as Hades in a new version of the tale, one where no Orpheus would come and save her. Not that anyone could; she seemed pretty comfortable in her fantasy world.

At the same time his voice revealed none of his inner appreciation or consideration. Instead he said casually, “And who am I supposed to fall in love with?”

“Anyone you want,” she said, sounding anxious and modestly hopeful. “At this point, we don’t care. Just pick someone.”

She opened that preverbal door wide enough to take it off the hinges, didn’t she? He leaned forward as well, his elbows resting on the edge. Steepling his fingers, he nodded. “All right, I want you.”

“Pardon?”

His mouth quirked upward. Even bafflement complimented the young woman’s Byzantine face. “You said pick someone, so I’ll take you.”

She stepped back and straightened, ruining his view of her luscious landscape. Then again, the new pose - hands on her hips which she jutted left, shoulders back, chest pushed forward and angled just so - worked well too. Then one hand moved between them, and manicured fingers extended one by one.

“First off, cupids and mortals don’t mix.”

“And yet here we are.”

She looked taken aback for a split second. Then her full lips paled as she pressed them together. “Secondly,” she said, her voice losing its patient tone, “I don’t like skeptics. Especially ones who try to make everyone else miserable too.”

Gavin shrugged. “If you’re talking about my clients, they screw up their own lives. I just take the pictures.”

Roxy’s expression turned volcanic. “No wonder we haven’t been able to do anything with you. What were they thinking, sticking me with this assignment?” She rubbed her forehead, then pointed her eyes and chin to the sky. “I just want to do my job and make people happy,” she moaned, her gaze locked on the ceiling. “I don’t deserve to get stuck with a skeptic. Especially not this skeptic.”

Gavin couldn’t resist. “Who are you talking to? Or do you have an invisible companion I should know about?”

Her eyes slipped closed. The rest of her body remained rigid. “I’m talking to God, but I’m sure you don’t believe in Him either, do you?” When he failed to respond, every muscle from her scalp down to her shoulders went slack. “I figured as much.”

Frowning, Gavin noted how out of place defeat looked on the previously animated woman.

“It has to be another mortal,” she said after a long sigh. “I’ve watched you for two days already, so I know you have plenty of options. Think about it; get back to me.” She turned on her heel, waving over her shoulder. “In the meantime, tell Mrs. Wilson to enjoy her trip.”

His brain acknowledged the impossibility that Roxy would know anything about his client’s plans. He asked anyway. “What trip?”

“The one she’s calling you about. Right” - she took a breath - “now.”

Gavin managed half a skeptical huff before the phone’s ring echoed through the office. His lungs froze with the rest of his body. Only his eyes moved, jerking to the phone before returning to Roxy‘s back, as the second ring cut through the silence.

“Think about what I said.” The phone rang a third time while she offered a wink over her shoulder. “Then we’ll talk.”

Gavin bit back his ire, grabbing the phone on the fourth ring before it redirected to voicemail. He made the mistake of looking away before picking up the receiver. Only a small part of his consciousness registered surprise to find his office empty in less than a second. The rest of his mind was too busy digesting Mrs. Wilson’s hesitant greeting in his ear. Once Mrs. Wilson started explaining why she no longer needed his services, including her husband’s idea they leave immediately for a second honeymoon, her words and Roxy’s too-accurate prediction blended in his mind.

Oh, he'd be talking to Roxy again, all right. And no more clever little vanishing acts until he got some answers.