Lover Beware

heart, a curious melting sensation that was utterly terrifying. He couldn’t take his fascinated gaze off of her. Strangely, for just one moment, he felt as if Sarah was no longer in the room with him. As if her physical body had separated from her spirit, allowing her to travel across time and space. Damon shook himself, trying to get rid of the crazy impression. He wasn’t an imaginative person, yet he was certain Sarah had somehow touched her sister Elle.
    “Elle is in a cave of gems, deep under the ground where she can hear the heartbeat of the earth.” Sarah opened her eyes and looked at him. “I’m Sarah Drake.”
    “Damon Wilder.” He gestured toward his house. “Your new neighbor.” He was staring at her, drinking her in. It didn’t make sense. He was certain she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world but his heart and lungs were insisting she was. Sarah was average height, with a woman’s figure. She wore faded, worn blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. She certainly was not at all glamorous, yet his lungs burned for air and his heart accelerated. His body hardened painfully when she wasn’t even trying to be a sexy siren, simply standing there in her comfortable old clothes with her wealth of dark hair pulled back from her pale face. It was the most infuriating and humiliating thing it was his misfortune to endure.
    “You bought the old Hanover place. The view is fantastic. How did you come to find our little town?” Her cool blue gaze was direct and far too assessing. “You look like a man who would be far more comfortable in a big city.”
    Damon’s fist tightened around his cane. Sarah could see his knuckles were white. “I saw it on a map and just knew it was the place I wanted to live in when I retired.” She studied his face, the lines of suffering etched into his face, the too old eyes. He was surrounded with the mark of Death, and he read Death in the midnight sky, yet she was strangely drawn to him.
    Her eyebrow went up, a perfect arch. “You’re a little young to retire, I would have thought. There’s not a lot of excitement here.”
    “I’ll have to disagree with that. Have you hung out around the grocery store lately? Inez provides amazing entertainment.” There was a wealth of sarcasm mixed with contempt in his voice.
    Sarah turned away from him, her shoulders stiffening visibly. “What do you actually know about Inez to have managed to form an opinion in your month of living here?” She sounded sweet and interested but he had the feeling he had just stepped hard on her toes.
    Damon limped after her like a puppy dog, trying not to mutter foul curses under his breath. It never mattered to him what other people thought. Everyone had opinions and few actually had educated ones. Why the hell did Sarah’s opinion of him matter? And why did her hips have to sway with mesmerizing invitation?
    The kitchen was tiled with the same midnight blue that had formed the sky in the mosaic. A long bank of windows looked out over a garden of flowers and herbs. He could see a three-tiered fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Sarah waved him toward the long table while she fixed the tea. Damon couldn’t see a speck of dust or dirt anywhere in the house. “When did you arrive?”
    “Late last night. It feels wonderful to be home again. It’s been a couple of years since my last visit. My parents are in Europe at the moment. They own several homes and love Italy. My grandmother is with them, so the cliff house has been empty.”
    “So this is your parents’ home?” When she shook her head with her slight, mysterious smile he asked, “Do you own this house?”
    “With my sisters. It was given to us through our mother.” She brought a steaming mug of tea and placed it on the table beside his hand. “I think you’ll like this. It’s soothing and will help take away the pain.”
    “I didn’t say I was in pain.” Damon could have kicked himself. Even to his own ears he sounded ridiculous, a defiant child denying the truth. “Thank you,” he managed to mutter, trying to smell the tea without offending her.
    Sarah sat across from him, cradling a teacup between her palms. “How can I help you, Mr. Wilder?”
    “Call me Damon,” he said.
    “Damon then,” she acknowledged with a small smile. “I’m just Sarah.”
    Damon could feel her penetrating gaze. “I’ve been very interested in your house, Sarah. The paint hasn’t faded or peeled, not even in the salt