She'd done her research on him before today, and knew that he'd seen the darkest side of the universe as a result of being a hunter. Maybe that had caused him to put those walls up, or maybe he spent allhis bravery in the field, and protected himself in love. That thought filled her chest with painful loneliness, a palpable sadness for the emptiness he lived with. She ran her fingers through his hair even more tenderly, wanting to soothe away all his monsters.
"You feel so right, Sunny Renfroe," he whispered in reaction. "And nobody ever feels right in my arms."
She stilled, instinctively knowing that he'd just made a very deep, intimate admission, maybe without even fully realizing it. Her eyes teared up suddenly at the idea that this strapping, gorgeous man—this battler of demons and the forces of darkness—clearly felt alone.
She caressed his cheek slowly, the heat between them simmering, briefly changing to something far more tender.
Just as quickly, the moment passed—or he forced it to. He stood upright, bracing both arms about her so that she was framed against the door. With a long, searching gaze into her eyes, he whispered, "I wish you'd become my lover tonight."
Jamie stretched out on the wicker chaise longue that occupied the center of the glass house. He'd brought the chair out here after his mother's death, when he'd needed a place away from his family, away from the Shades and the Spartans. Somewhere quiet where he could think. It faced the flowing creek and marsh grass, and late in the day he liked to amble out here and drink a glass of wine.
But he'd never, not once, invited a female to this place of sanctuary. That alone should've tipped him off that Sunny was bounding past any of his own protective wards, yet he kept trying to tell himself that it was all about identifying her supernatural nature. She didn't feel evil and sure as heck didn't taste it. She was the diametric opposite of all the nasty creatures he fought. But after years with the sight, a decade of hunting, he had to know exactly what she was. If she wouldn't admit it, then he'd use his sensual skills to pry the facts out of her.
The only problem with that little plan? He could feel himself falling fast and hard, which meant she wasn't the only one who was scared.
He sprawled out on the chair and gazed up at her. She stood uncertainly beside him, arms folded tight across her br**sts. He needed to make her laugh, get her to loosen up a little.
"You are sixteen going on . . ." he sang, laughing.
She swung her gaze to him, dark eyebrows quirking together in confusion. So he explained.
"Sound of Music ." He gestured about them. "They had one of these glass houses in that movie. It's why my mama wanted one. Daddy had it built for her before I was born."
She smiled, a gorgeous beam of sunlight brightening up the night. Unexpected. Thrilling. He wanted to keep her smiling forever.
"I knew this place looked familiar. I love that movie."
"Perhaps I should chase you around on the benches and twirl you in my arms, then." He lifted an eyebrow. "Naked."
Her smile faded and she wrapped both arms about herself again.
Everything in her demeanor screamed virgin, and it made him feel guilty . . . but not for long. He wasn't just after her identity. He'd meant what he'd said on the veranda—he wanted to give her more pleasure than she'd ever known. Wanted to see her react to his touch, glimpse the fire in her almond-shaped eyes as she lay beneath him and he stroked her deepest places.
She glanced away, toward the creek, looking uncomfortable, and that wouldn't do at all. He reached for her hand, pulling her closer to where he lay. "Sunny."
She kept her gaze averted, even as their fingers threaded together. He could feel a light sweat on her palm, and he frowned. "Why are you so afraid of me?" he asked softly.
Finally, she met his gaze. Her own eyes filled with desire and heat and, yes, fear.
"Tell me," he urged, sitting upright and taking her other hand.
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Then what?"
"I'm afraid of me!" she cried impatiently. "I don't know what to do.... You're experienced and suave, and I . . . I still want you, even though I shouldn't."
He broke out into a huge grin, his heart beating much faster. "That's my girl."
"No," she insisted, disengaging her hand from his grasp. She looked up, as if searching for some answer from heaven itself. "I'm . . . not supposed to . . ."
He rose to his feet. "Is it a spiritual thing? You don't think a good girl should have sex or something? I already told you where I stand on that one. God invented the act of making love."
She shook her head again. "Not for me, He didn't."
He thought on that statement for a moment, trying to place it within any context that would explain what or who she truly was. He decided to go straight for broke, as he'd always been a gambling man.
"Sunshine, be honest with me, okay? Are you really human?"
She pressed both hands to her face. "Please don't ask me that again. Don't push me anymore."
At that precise moment, a flash of lightning rent the sky, throwing them both into staccato relief.
He caught a glimpse of her extreme dismay, a rivulet of dampness on her cheek.
Then all was dark again. It had to be a sudden storm, because the night sky had been clear only a few minutes earlier. Only, no storm, not even in the low country, came up this fast in December.
Again, bright light flashed, a peal of thunder vibrating the glass all around them. Sunny turned from him, head bowed.
Every emotion inside of him was at war—he yearned to comfort her, to make love to her, to interrogate her. Instead, he found himself stepping behind her and very gently wrapping his arms about her waist. Drawing her back against his chest, he simply held her.
"You don't have to tell me," he whispered in her ear. "It's okay. We can take our time, too. There's more than tonight."
He'd not promised a woman more than one night . . . ever.
Sunny stilled in his arms, then shocked him by starting to laugh. "You can actually go a little slow, scoundrel?"
He stroked her hair, smiling, and then kissed the top of her head. "Not normally. But you're not a normal girl."
She sighed. He shouldn't have pushed her again, not even subtly. Turning in his arms, she leaned her cheek against his chest. "I wish I were," she said wistfully.
He angled his mouth to kiss her again, but lightning speared the darkness, seeming to suspend between them endlessly. That was the moment when he saw the massive, winged figure on the other side of the glass . . . staring at Sunny with eyes as bright as moonbeams.