Mysteria Nights

think they’re mice.”

Panic flashed in his eyes, as if he didn’t want her going down that road. “What else would they be, lass?”

“I mean, I think they’re rats. Why are you acting so worried? Is my hulking, six-foot-five knight afraid of little rodents?”

“Nay.” I am afraid for you, his eyes said.

What a sweetie. He took his role of protector so seriously that it had extended to pest control. She wanted to hug him, but her hands were sticky with sugar. “I don’t like mice, but I’m not afraid of them, Damon. The desert rats we had in Iraq were way worse, and I saw cockroaches in Biloxi that were as big as small horses, so don’t worry about me.” Despite her big talk, she did react with a little shudder as she envisioned mice scampering through the house at night, popping out of the medicine cabinets in the dark, nesting between her bedsheets. “Do you know where they’re coming from?”

“I’ve seen one or two in the barn,” he mumbled.

Where he slept. Again, she shuddered. “I’ll buy some traps tomorrow. Or a cat—a hungry cat! I just want them gone before my family gets here.”

“Trust me, lass. I dinna want the little beasties around, either.” He said it like he meant it, too. She was confident that tomorrow, the rats would be history.

Harmony drizzled gravy over the ham steaks. Red-eye gravy was thin in consistency but potent in flavor. Her mouth watered in anticipation. Careful not to step on any stray creatures, she carried the platter to the table, setting it down amid bowls of mashed potatoes, vegetables, and biscuits.

“Oh, I baked us a special dessert, too.” She carried the cake to the table and announced proudly, “Devil’s food!”

Damon choked on the water he’d just sipped.

“What’s wrong? It’s just chocolate on chocolate, and I know you love chocolate.”

“Aye, I do,” he rasped. “The name—it merely startled me, lass.”

“You’re so darn cute sometimes, Damon of Mysteria.” Tossing aside her apron, she grabbed a book of matches and stood next to his chair to light some candles. He smelled clean, like coconut soap. His skin radiated heat and his personal scent that she found so distracting. She wouldn’t mind a chaste kiss. Get real. She craved a real kiss, a hot, deep, toe-curling kind of kiss, the kind she daydreamed about when she was supposed to be working on her sermons.

His hand slid around her waist. “Cute? I dinna know if I’m that, lass, but ye do make me happy. Very happy.”

He’s never felt like this before. He’s never been this happy. She shook off the strange, unbidden thought. Why were those things jumping into her head? It always seemed to happen when he touched her.

Harmony tried not to think about latent seer genes coming active, and instead turned around in the circle of Damon’s arms and slid her arms over his shoulders. “You make me happy, too.”

They’d never touched like this, so casually, so intimately. It had never been for the lack of wanting to, of course, but suddenly she wondered what in the world she was waiting for when it came to that real kiss she’d been wanting. And so she bent down and brushed her lips over his.

Just a taste, that was all she intended, but his lips were soft . . . warm. Perfect.

Damon made a soft sound of pleasure in his throat, opening his mouth to hers as his fingers slid into her hair at the back of her head to bring her closer. Her tongue brushed his, and soon they were kissing more boldly, her hands framing his jaw.

The next thing she knew, she was in his lap with her butt nestled between his hard thighs. Damon didn’t just kiss; he savored her, relished her, drawing out the tender kiss the same way he’d delighted in every morsel of food from the day he arrived. Maybe even more so, made her feel as if she were the best thing he’d ever tasted, that his appetite was endless, insatiable, and that it wouldn’t stop here, that he’d want more and more and . . .

Damon released her like a hot potato. “Good, good, good,” he mumbled into her hair.

Laughing and gasping, Harmony rested her cheek against his jawbone. “Good. It was definitely that. Good, good, good.”

“I dinna disagree. ’Tis why I’m trying to remind myself to behave.”

She rubbed her thumb across his lower lip. “A good man, you are, Damon. A gentleman.”

He glanced away, as if suddenly afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. “I haven’t always been good, Harmony.”

“The corrupt job with the corrupt boss . . .”

“Aye.”

“But you’re starting over. You have a new life.” You’re clean, she almost blurted out, but she couldn’t tell him that, couldn’t admit she’d checked up on him. It seemed a betrayal of everything he’d been so far, which was nothing less than, well, than good. “Only God’s perfect, Damon. The rest of us do the best we can.”

It always amazed her how his smile transformed his face. His bone structure was strong, and he could look almost cruel when his expression was serious, but whenever he grinned, he became so roguishly handsome it took her breath away. “I will always do my best for you,” he said, pulling her close again. “Better than best.”

Folding her in strong arms, he hugged her to his chest for the longest time, as if she somehow anchored him here on earth. The thought made her heart ache when she remembered how lost he seemed when he’d first arrived. Then, he pressed his mouth to her forehead in a kiss so achingly tender that it left her awash in goose bumps all the same.

Bubba crashed through the dog door, and they jumped apart.

“He’s got something in his mouth.” But Harmony only caught a glimpse of the rat-sized thing in Bubba’s mouth before Damon blocked her view with his big hand. “Hey!” She tried peeling his fingers from her eyes. “I want to see.”

“Nay. ’Tis not a pretty sight.” Damon held her head to his chest with his left hand as he threw something with his right. She heard more water splash and a shriek. Did rats shriek? Several pairs of paws scrabbled on the floor. Then two loud swishes of the dog door and a lot of barking told her that whatever Bubba had caught managed to escape.

Harmony wriggled off Damon’s lap. “I’m going after Bubba.”

“Nay, lass. He’ll be fine.”

“What if the rat bites him?”

“The troll—er, rather, the rat—’twill have disappeared underground before the pup catches up.”

“Underground? What are they—part gopher?”

From outside, Bubba yipped in frustration. Apparently, the rodent had indeed disappeared down its hole.

Harmony tugged on the hem of her blouse to recover some of the modesty she’d thrown to the wind. To forestall any further interruptions of dinner, of kisses, or of anything else, she shoved an empty chair in front of the dog door. Then she plopped down in her chair, clasped her hands under her chin, and whispered a quick and silent prayer to compose herself before saying grace. “Thank you, Lord, for the bounty we are about to eat. Thank you for bringing Damon here to help me.” And thank you for making him the most amazing kisser in the whole wide world! “Amen.”

For the first time in her presence, Damon murmured “amen,” too. It sounded rusty on his lips, as if he’d not had much practice with prayer. It didn’t trouble her; she’d seen inside his soul. He was cleaner and purer inside, where it counted, than some pastors she’d run across.

“Sometimes, lass, I dinna know if I have brought you help or harm.”

She shook her head in confusion.

“Your thanks to God,” he explained. “You gave thanks for my help, such as it is.” He waved at the chair blocking the dog door. “It seems I have brought you more harm than good.”

“You mean the rats? You can’t blame yourself for that. We probably stirred them up when we cleaned out the hayloft.”

He made a scoffing, grumbling sound in his throat.