On the Hunt (Sentinel Wars #3.5)(85)
Author: Gena Showalter

No, but your three guardians are watching from somewhere, even if I can’t see them. And Kiel sees everything I do. . . .

"I think champagne would be lovely." His selection made, he slid the leather-bound wine list onto the table, turning his full attention on her. "Now, tell me what it was like when you became human.

What you remember about your childhood . . . I want to know about your family, the one that raised you. I have questions, lots of questions."

"Why do you want to know all that?"

"Because a strong second to how much I want you, my sweet Sunshine? Is how badly I want to know everything about you." He faced her completely, resting a forearm along the back of the banquette. "I booked the table for the whole evening. So start talking and don’t leave anything out."

Jamie’s attention never wavered, not for one moment of their time together. Even after their meal was served, he would take a bite or two, then turn back to her, asking about some detail or another. Why had the angels chosen the Renfroes as her mortal family? Was it their faith, their position in society? How had she concealed her identity from them, starting at ten years old when they’d adopted her, never realizing that she’d arrived on Earth only a month before?

His fascination with her was endless, and to his credit, he didn’t touch her again throughout the evening. He slowly sipped champagne, his green eyes always on her while she talked. A few times, she saw him reach out for her hand, then catch himself, retrieving his champagne glass instead.

After almost two hours, Sunny was worn-out with talking. "It’s not fair. You’ve had all the questions. Maybe I had a thing or two to ask you." She tried laughing, feeling suddenly shy.

He waved her off. "I’m boring. Why do you think I can’t keep a girlfriend?"

"Because you don’t let anyone close, Jamie," she said seriously. "I see your game." He glanced away quickly, whispering something unintelligible under his breath.

She leaned closer, wanting to hear. "What did you say?"

He turned back to her. "I’ll let you in. I mean I would . . . if . . ." He gave her a wistful look. "I know, I know…. Never mind."

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.