Touched by Darkness (38 page)

"Doris had an amazing vitality and a zest for life,"

she told the group assembled at the Gateway

Funeral Home. "She could do circles around people

half her age, me included." A lot of people smiled

and nodded.

"She had a huge heart and a loving spirit. She cared

about those less fortunate, and was always helping

with church and town fund raisers. She was a

wonderful baker and made the best cakes and

cookies in Zorro. I owe at least five pounds to her."

More wistful smiles and nodding.

"Doris did a lot of things to help others, quietly,

without any fanfare. I've seen her—saw her—load

her car with meals and blankets and clothing and

take them into the poor neighborhoods around

Zorro. She'd also take flowers from her garden—

yes, she was an excellent gardener, too—and books

and magazines to people who were sick.

"She loved children—everyone's kids—and was so

darned proud of her own children and

grandchildren. My son adored her." Kara paused,

feeling tremendous regret that Alex couldn't be

there to say good-bye, but he had written a letter

right after Doris died, and she'd brought it today

and propped it by the urn containing Doris's ashes.

Clearing her throat, Kara continued, "Doris was a

modern woman, and kept up with the changing

technology, despite her age. She surfed the Internet

on her computer, sent and received e-mail, took

yoga classes, and went on ocean cruises. She had a

full and happy life, and I—" Her gaze skittered to

the lovely portrait of Doris on its easel, and the

golden urn beside it, and a sudden rush of tears

filled her eyes. "We're all going to miss her

terribly," she finished in a tear-choked whisper.

She stepped down from the podium, and Sharon,

pale and wan with grief, flashed a thankful smile.

Her heart heavy, Kara returned to her seat beside

Damien. "Well spoken," he murmured.

The tears overflowed her eyes and she fumbled

blindly in her jacket pocket for a tissue. A white

handkerchief appeared out of nowhere. "Here."

"Thanks." She took it, blotted her eyes, feeling

miserable. Losing Doris was painful enough. It was

made worse by the fact that she'd been murdered,

and by a Belian. Added to that was her guilt

because Damien had warned her about the Belian,

but she'd done her ostrich routine until it was too

late.

"You are
not
responsible for Doris's passing," he

said in a low voice, and she wondered if he was a

mind reader.

Needing his strength and warmth, she leaned

against him. She felt the slight hesitation before his

arm came around her. Its reassuring weight was

enough to get her through the rest of the service.

#

"What a day," Kara said later, as they walked across

the grass to her house.

The memorial service had been followed by a get-

together at Doris's house. Neighbors and friends

had brought enough food to feed the entire Texas

National Guard. Damien made impressive inroads

on the food, while managing to stay close to Kara.

It was stressful being in the house where she'd

found Doris, talking to the family and dealing with

the curious stares and whispers aimed at her and

Damien. She was glad when they were able to

leave.

The sun was setting and the temperature dropping.

The chill seeped through Kara's wool pantsuit. "Did

you pick up anything?" she asked.

"Not even a glimmer. If the Belian was at the

funeral home or the house, it was well shielded."

"Belle Williams didn't look very good," Kara

commented. "She must have had a chemo treatment

yesterday."

"Did you notice her legs? Very nice for a woman

her age."

"She square-danced for years, until her husband

died... the Belian has nice legs," Kara said slowly,

remembering the vivid images from last night.

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Belle is on our short list of suspects." Kara turned

to look back at Doris's house. Soon it would be

sold, and her things would be distributed among

her children. Kara couldn't shake the soul-deep

sadness. And she missed Alex. Nothing was right in

her world. "God, I need a drink." She felt, rather

than saw, Damien's gaze swing to her.

"We can do that."

She knew his mega-rapid metabolism allowed him

to drink large quantities of alcohol, while she could

drink herself into oblivion— which sounded damn

good right now. "I don't want to go to Jim's tavern,"

she said with a shudder. "Let's just go to the Quik-

Stop drive through and get something to bring back

here."

"Fine." He had the measured tone of someone

trying to soothe an upset or deranged person, but

she simply didn't care.

She insisted on driving, so they took her truck and

bought a twelve-pack of Shiner Bock, which she

also insisted on paying for. She didn't bother to

change her clothes when they returned, just

grabbed two beers, popped the tops, and gave one

to Damien.

She plopped onto the couch and kicked off her

pumps. Damien was wearing that killer black suit,

this time with a silver-and-black striped tie. He set

his beer down to take off the coat and tie and drape

them over a dining room chair, then retrieved the

bottle and settled in the big chair.

She had a fourth of her beer downed before he took

his first sip. His eyebrows lifted when she slugged

another fourth in one long gulp. "You know, you

didn't eat anything at the reception."

"Ask me if I care."

He didn't respond, but she thought she saw his lips

twitch as he raised his beer to his mouth. He took a

healthy swig, his powerful throat flexing as he

swallowed. He'd released his hair from the tie, and

it was loose around his shoulders, a stark contrast

against the white dress shirt. With the sharp angles

and lines of his face, tempered by the sensual

fullness of his lips, he looked like a god. Watching

him made her a little giddy.

"Besides, you ate enough for the two of us," she

muttered in an attempt to divert her wayward

thoughts.

"Yeah, there was some great food there."

She almost laughed at the reverence in his voice.

He might be an all-powerful Sentinel, but he was

such a
guy.
And what a guy—with all the right

parts, slot A fitting perfectly into slot B. Damn, her

thoughts were definitely unruly.

She drank more beer and pondered her reactions to

Damien. Part of it was the sexual attraction that

raged between them when they were in close

physical proximity to one another, and that was

nothing more than chemistry.

Yet even when there was distance between them,

when she was away from the mind-clouding

hormonal surge of the Sentinel-conductor link, she

had lingering thoughts of Damien. His honor and

integrity, his compassion and strength, his

gentleness and easy affection with Alex— his basic

goodness—
all combined inside a gorgeous face and

body to form one hell of a package.

One that was becoming harder to resist.
And maybe

she shouldn't even try.
Gulping the rest of her beer,

she rose from the couch. "You ready for another

one?"

"Sure." He drained his bottle, handed it to her.

In the kitchen, she leaned against the sink, staring

sightlessly out the window. She knew she was

navigating treacherous waters, at a time when she

was vulnerable. Her life was off course, everything

she'd worked for threatened, and now she had

inexplicable,
dangerous
feelings. They were

probably just the result of the upheaval in her life.

Yet, didn't she deserve some happiness, however

fleeting? Deciding the answer was yes, she got two

more beers.

She rejoined Damien in the living room, sipped the

second beer more slowly. Her thoughts returned to

last night's conduction, and to something that had

nagged at her since then. "You didn't kiss me," she

said.

"What?"

"Last night. You didn't kiss me during the

conduction."

She'd caught him off guard, judging from his

expression. "Kara—"

"Don't give me some bullshit answer! I asked a

simple question. A straightforward reply would be

nice, for a change."

His jaw tightened. "No, I don't kiss my conductors.

It makes things too personal, raises... expectations."

Ah,
emotion, commitment.
She understood

Sentinels couldn't get involved with every one of

their conductors. But many took mates and had

families—to propagate the species, if nothing else,

as she had just learned. Yet she sensed there was

something else underlying Damien's isolation.

"Does this have anything to do with what happened

to your parents?"

The pain flashed across his face before he could

hide it. Then he schooled his features into an

unreadable expression. "That has nothing to do

with any of this."

But she knew it did. He had done the same thing

she had, she realized. His pain from his personal

loss had been so great, he'd shut down emotionally.

In that regard, they were kindred souls. Both

wounded spirits.

She was so damned tired of being wounded.

She was on her feet without a conscious decision,

her legs carrying her to Damien of their own

volition. His eyes flared, but before he could react,

she leaned down, trapped his face between her

hands and kissed him.

He jerked back as if he'd been burned. "What the

—"

She pressed her fingers against his mouth. "Shut

up. This isn't a conduction, Damien, where you can

keep your distance by claiming it's for a higher

cause. There's no Sentinel and conductor business

tonight. Right now, we're just two people who need

one another."

He grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand from his

mouth. "That's the alcohol talking. You don't know

what you're doing."

It wasn't the beer—she could drink at least three

before she got tipsy. She felt as if she'd made a

monumental decision, had already taken the leap

off the cliff. She couldn't go back now, didn't want

to go back.

So she reached for her wings and took control of

the fall. "The hell I don't! You keep telling me that

life goes on, that we do have free will in some

things. Well, I'm choosing to
live.
I guess you're

going to hide behind your Sentinel heritage, instead

of facing life head on. You're a coward, Morgan."

Anger sparked in his eyes. "You know that's not

true."

"Really? You're letting the past dictate your life,

and you're refusing to let yourself feel. I'd call that

cowardice."

Maybe her words were the pot calling the kettle

black, since she'd done exactly what she accused

him of, but at least she had finally been willing to

take the leap. And her wings seemed to be working

just fine.

"You don't know anything about my life," he said,

and started to move her back so he could stand.

She shoved him hard, catching him off balance, and

he fell back into the chair. "I know you're a man,

with feelings and needs, just like any other human

male. And I'm assuming you want me.
So kiss me,

damn it!"

Not giving him another opportunity to protest, she

grabbed his head and kissed him again. She felt his

resistance, his hands coming up to her shoulders to

push her away. She angled her head, teased her

tongue between his lips.
Please,
she thought,

please, please don't reject me.
She needed this right

now, needed to feel alive and maybe cared for, even

if only for one night.

As if again reading her mind, his hands cupped her

shoulders, and she sensed him wavering. With a

groan, he took command of the kiss, began

ravishing her mouth with devastating finesse. Dear

God, he kissed every bit as good as she had

fantasized, and then some. With a little hum, she

crawled on his lap, straddled him. Felt him leap to

life between her legs, the immense hardness of him