On the Hunt

She saw genuine pain flash in his eyes, and tried to lighten things up. "We never would've worked anyway. I mean, a black chick and a white dude? In this Southern city? Good grief, the tongues would wag and wag, especially given your family name. The Junior League would have group-wide heart failure."

"Sunny, it's not 1950 anymore," he disagreed. "Nobody cares who I see. Besides, I don't move in high society very much anyway."

"James Angel, be truthful now." She gave him a wide-eyed, chastising look.

"Okay, okay," he admitted, laughing. "I can't bullshit one of the heavenly host."

"Jamie!" She clamped a hand over her own mouth at his irreverence.

He shrugged. "So I hit a few of the society parties now and then. I don't belong in that world. We have money, but we're freaks in this town. The main thing . . ." He leaned closer, sliding his arm along the back of her seat without actually touching her. "The most important thing is, I'd have been proud to have you on my arm, Sunny Renfroe. So proud."

Her vision instantly blurred and she stared at her plate wordlessly. Jamie's warm hand encircled her nape and he rubbed the cordons of her neck, very tenderly massaging her. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She blinked at the tears, knowing she should force his hand away. He couldn't touch her, couldn't transgress the rules of interaction.

And she couldn't find the strength to stop him. "I'd have been proud, too," she whispered, wiping at her eyes. "To be on your arm, to know you were mine. But I can't afford to even dream about that."

He scooted closer, the hard muscles of his upper thigh pressing into hers. He slid his hand down around her shoulder, cradling her close. "Dreaming isn't a crime, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear, letting his lips graze the lobe with an almost-touch. "God puts dreams inside of us for a reason."

She shook her head, searching for the strength to scoot away, but he just leaned a little closer, holding her against his side. "I never much dreamed I could fall in love," he admitted huskily. "Not ever. Not till you walked in my house the other day."

She looked up into his eyes plaintively. "Please. Don't make this harder, Jamie. You saw what happened in the gazebo."

"Your boss? Yeah, don't think I'm not scared. I may be a tough guy, but I realize this is serious business."

She lifted fingertips to his cheek, caressing it briefly. "Then stop touching me."

He smiled gently. "You're touching me, too."

She dropped her hand as if scalded. "I won't. Not again."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, obediently sliding a few feet away along the banquette, putting safe distance between their two bodies.

Her throat tightened painfully, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Because I won't see you again, not after tonight. It was a mistake. There's too much desire, too much we both want . . . and can't have."

Jamie planted his fist on the table angrily. The silver-ware and china clattered; his champagne glass sloshed some of its contents onto the cloth, but then he slammed his hand down even harder. "I've spent my whole adult life serving the righteous by hunting demons. So tell me why, Sunny?" He turned to her, desperation darkening his usually bright eyes. "Why have I been given this dream of you, only to have it denied me?" With a brutal gesture, he reached for his champagne, draining the glass's remaining contents. "How can falling for you like this be wrong or evil? Maybe I should burn in hell, but I can't stop how I feel. . . ." He glanced away sharply, wiping his own eyes with the back of his hand.

She'd never wanted to touch a human more than she did Jamie Angel in that moment. Not to arouse him, not to pleasure herself. She simply wanted to draw him into her arms and hold him, comfort him.

There were no rules against compassion. The curtains were closed; they were completely alone and unobserved. Without questioning or second-guessing for another moment, she opened her arms wide and pulled Jamie close, wrapping him tightly in an embrace. He bent his head against her shoulder, sliding his hands about her waist. She felt the fast rhythm of his heart beating against her own chest, smelled the masculine scent of his skin, the fresh, clean aroma of shampoo in his hair.

She reached, threading her fingers through that straight, soft hair. Just one stroke, maybe two.

Surely that would be overlooked.

Except . . . he moaned. Right in her ear, an eager, hungry sound that said one or two more caresses would only ignite the fire between them all over again. Make them burn harder and hotter, take them beyond the veil to the place of punishment and retribution.

She drew in a ragged breath, pressing her mouth against his bristling cheek, feeling his own lips against her jaw, her throat. He pulled at her waist, drawing her closer, closer, until she was halfway on his lap, feeling his thick erection beneath her thigh.

Had to stop, had to put an end to it . . . but she didn't possess the strength of will to do so.

"Belong to me, Sunny," he begged, his mouth finding hers. "Please find a way."

There was no rule that could be bent. They'd been doomed before they'd ever so much as kissed the first time.

With both hands, she pushed at his chest, sliding away from him and back onto the banquette.

Jamie kept reaching for her, his gaze imploring as it swept over her face, her body. She was about to explain the facts again, when his BlackBerry rang, vibrating on the table beside him.

He stared at it for one long moment, and she saw Mason's name on the caller ID. "Damn it." He whipped the phone to his ear. "What's going on, Mace?" he demanded irritably. She couldn't hear what his brother said on the other end, but Jamie lowered his voice, turning away. "I told you not to disturb me. That tonight was important," he whispered.

She couldn't help smiling, even as her heart broke . . . for Jamie and for herself.

"Where?" He suddenly sat up tall in the seat. "Midnight? All right."

He replaced the BlackBerry on the table with a sigh. "Work," he muttered, staring down at the phone, seemingly lost in thought.

"What's happening at midnight?" Maybe if she could pull his attention back to the real world, he'd forget their own anguished interactions.

Jamie raked a hand through his hair. "Usual crap. There's this demon Thrastikas that's been gunning for my ass lately. Apparently . . ." He waved it off. "Doesn't matter."

She sat forward, her own senses on full alert. What if this was the same demon that Shay had drawn the other day? The dangerous one, with that death grip on Jamie? Even if it wasn't, something about this midnight meeting felt dead wrong. As a guardian, she was wired with a full load of senses that ordinary humans didn't possess, and right now they were warning her about Jamie's safety.

"Jamie, please tell me what is happening at midnight," she repeated intently.

"Mason wanted to let me know he set a trap for Thrastikas down in Bonaventure Cemetery. That demon soul-sucked a couple of tourists today and Mace is pissed. So he's decided that we're going to take him down tonight once and for all."

The hair on Sunny's nape bristled. This plan wasn't right; danger awaited Jamie—she was sure of it.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He cast a dubious look at her. "I don't have to take you home for another hour."

"It's not about me. It's dangerous, Jamie."

"Like I said, the usual stuff," he said in a dull tone. She'd hurt him tonight, and she didn't like the idea of his being in the field in his current emotional state. The pain he was suffering would put him in jeopardy, make him more vulnerable than usual.

She shook her head adamantly. "I'm serious, Jamie. Don't go tonight. Please."

Maybe she should tell him about Shay's drawing, but the image could be interpreted in any number of ways. For all she knew, Jamie would try to use it to argue that she belonged in his life; otherwise a demon might kill him. So she opted to keep the drawing's existence to herself.

He leaned back against the banquette and gave her a long look. In the candlelight, his eyes gleamed bright, filled with unmasked heartache. "You're telling me we have no future, Sunny.

You've made that point indelibly clear. That means all I've got is my calling as a hunter," he said bitterly. "I might as well focus on my job . . . since I won't have you."

She reached for his hand, but he averted the gesture. "Jamie, listen to me," she begged. "Don't start taking crazy chances. Not because of me or because we can't . . ."

She wasn't able to finish, because the phone rang again, although she couldn't see who was on caller ID this time. After a moment, Jamie said. "All right, I'll get moving. Yeah, yeah, I know. Give me thirty."

Before she could object again, or explain about an earthly guardian's keen sense of danger, Jamie began tracking down the server and handling the bill. When she tried to take hold of his hand while they waited for the valet, he got another phone call, and walked away from her to answer it. The drive to her apartment was only a few blocks, and despite several efforts, she wasn't able to convince him that he should stay far away from Bonaventure Cemetery tonight.

Chapter Nine

Jamie didn't like the smell of things. Literally. He wasn't even over the locked gate to Bonaventure Cemetery yet, and the acrid, rank scent of demons already had his stomach roiling, something that almost never happened after so many years as a hunter. As he slung a booted foot over the top of the wrought-iron gate, the stench intensified. This was going to be an ugly battle—all his senses told him that.

Sunny warned you to stay away. An angel from the heavenly host cautioned you that this fight was a dangerous one.

He'd been too hurt and distressed to heed her warning, but more than that, he'd wanted to lose himself in a good fight. Gashes and claw marks would heal, so he welcomed them, wanted to feel that pain, the rawness of it. Yes, his body would heal even as he knew his heart never would recover from this particular emotional hit. He was convinced he'd lost Sunny forever, so why not bring on the battle wounds? God wanted him as a hunter but wouldn't grant him the deepest wish of his heart? Well, fine. Then he was here to fight, to put his life and body on the line. Maybe if he was lucky, some badass demon would get the best of him this time, and put him out of his misery for good.