Her father . . . No. She wouldn’t think about Jeffrey. Not tonight.

As she forced away thoughts of the man who had repudiated her when she’d been barely eighteen, Raphael swept out over the Hudson, dropping so hard and fast that she yelped before she could catch herself. The Archangel of New York was one hell of a flier—he skimmed along the water until he could’ve trailed his fingers in its rushing cold, before pulling himself up in a steep ascent. Showing off.

For her.

It made her heart lighten, her lips curve.

Dipping down to join him at a lower altitude, she watched the night winds whip that sleek ebony hair across his face, as if they could not resist touching him.

It will do no good.

“What?” Fascinated by the almost cruel beauty of him, this male she dared call her lover, she’d forgotten what she’d asked him.

For me to scare them away—you are not a woman to stay in seclusion.

“Damn. You’re right.” Feeling her shoulder muscles begin to pull in ominous warning, she winced. “I think I need to set down soon.” Her body had been damaged in the fight against Lijuan. Not much—and the injuries had healed, but the enforced rest period meant she’d lost some of the muscle she’d built up prior to the battle that had turned Beijing into a crater, its voice the silent cry of the dead.

We’re almost home.

Concentrating on keeping herself going in a straight line, she realized he’d shifted position so she was effectively riding his wake—meaning she no longer had to make as much effort to hold herself aloft. Pride had her scrunching her face into a scowl, but contrasting with that was a deep warmth that came from knowing she was important, more than important, to Raphael.

And then she saw it, the sprawling mansion that was Raphael’s clifftop home on the other side of the river. Though the land backed up against the Hudson, the place was hidden from casual view by a thick verge of trees.