The Pearl of Paradise Page 2

  He’d felt like he’d found the other half of his soul, the unscarred, shining, hopeful one that might have been his, if only—

  If only…

  Lily emerged from her burial vault at night, when he was helpless to stop her from haunting his thoughts. Even then, he fought her, fought to keep himself from weakening. Each time he awoke from dreams of her, he felt a quick flash of optimism—then the ravaging drop to reality.

  Lily was never there, in his arms, when he awoke. And he’d be signing her death warrant to change that. It was all that kept him from begging, all that prevented him from calling out to her tonight… all that made him able to walk away… and hurt her again.

  He’d seen it. Seen that brief flash of remembrance, that moment when her mind danced, too, in the mists of what might have been… in what they’d shared—and lost.

  Dear God. Would it never stop? Would the pain ever go away, the wanting? And it wasn’t just to hold her, to make that sweet body his own again that he craved so badly. It was simple things, like Lily chasing a butterfly, eyes alight with excitement. Lily, tongue darting in and out of the corner of her pink lips as she concentrated on beating him at the game of wei qi. Lily, squealing as he let their kite fly higher in the stiff Bay breezes.

  Why had she come? Why had she made him see her again, made herself so real, so painfully close?

  “Damon?”

  He jerked around, for a moment confusing the feminine voice with the one he wanted so much to hear again. Callie’s worried look brought him back to the moment, quickly.

  “What is it?”

  “We have another woman who needs sanctuary. She’s waiting in the parlor. Can you see her now?”

  Damon shook his head to send Lily back into the vault. Then, squaring his shoulders, he placed one hand on Callie’s arm, pleased to see that she didn’t flinch. She’d come a long way from the thin, bedraggled specter covered with bruises, her ribs showing from starvation.

  Why did some men think the only way to be a real man was to use fists on a woman?

  Come on, Alexander—you, the warrior. You understand violent men better than most.

  Ex-warrior. He’d hoped violence was in his past. Until Kwan showed up again, it had been.

  Callie looked up at his sigh. “You okay, Damon?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” Turning his attention to one of the reasons that entombment was bearable, he headed inside. “Tell me about her. Where did you find her? Is she hurt?”

  He could almost swear that Callie, always so serious, smirked at his last question. Smiling at her, he continued, “Okay, dumb question. Of course she’s hurt, or she wouldn’t be here.” They were the court of last resort. The women who came here were too afraid to even trust the women’s shelter. Usually, they’d been beaten half to death but were too afraid to go to any authorities. All too often, they were in this country illegally. He glanced at her again. “Do we need to call in Madame Xi?”

  Damon knew some herbal medicine himself—he’d learned from Fan Lee that Chinese warriors often knew the most about healing—a necessary asset. It helped them to understand the nerve centers, the body’s mysteries, in order to know where the enemy was vulnerable. But historically, they’d had to depend upon themselves for healing, too.

  For those women too terrified to seek help elsewhere, a clinic or hospital was out of the question, as well. Madame Xi, still very active in her mid-eighties, was their resident expert when Damon found himself out of his depth.

  He saw a shadow of memory darken Callie’s face. Still thinner than he’d like, she’d at least filled out enough to quit looking like a cadaver. But he was sure that neither of them had forgotten the condition in which she’d arrived. Each new woman was a reminder.

  “She’s… she’s more terrified than hurt, Damon. I think we can take care of her all right.” Her shadowed face held a shy, tentative pride.

  He smiled his encouragement. She’d stayed on here to help others like her. Like Chang, she had become indispensable. Callie was an adept pupil at the healing arts. She’d already learned much of what he knew; now she followed Madame Xi around, soaking up Madame’s knowledge like a sponge. “You’re as good at it than I am now, you know that.”

  Color tinged her cheeks before she looked away. The ache of seeing Lily again receded, just a tiny bit, in the joy of seeing the pleased look on the face of this woman. Callie was a gentle, timid soul who’d missed her childhood at the hands of a husband thrust upon her in the old country.

  Ah, God, like Lily… who’d lost her own girlhood even younger, until Fan Lee had taken her in from the cold. She’d had to support herself on the streets by stealing before then. Just like all of them but Chang, Lily had never had a family until Fan Lee brought them together. After Chang’s family died in an accident, Fan Lee had brought him to the temple, as well. He’d known that Chang and Lily shared a father, though they had never been told about one another.

  Damon had been older than the rest, nine years older than Lily, and she’d tugged at his heartstrings from the first. Somehow, despite what she’d endured, she’d always had a freshness about her. He’d watched her grow up—had held himself back, unwilling to taint her with the world he inhabited between visits to Fan Lee. And then, for a brief, shining time, she’d fed his hunger for love.

  He had to stop thinking about her. There was nothing to be gained—and hard-won peace to be lost. Here was his life. These people. Their needs.

  His promise.

  Damn you, Kwan. Damn you for being the instrument of my burial. Damn you for taking away my only chance at love.

  Damn you for drawing her back to torment me.

  Lily swept back the hood of the oversize poncho she’d worn to disguise herself, pulling off the glasses she’d donned on the street, then jerking the heavy fabric over her head.

  She leaned against the wall of the stairwell several steps below her apartment, suddenly too weary to continue.

  Why had she thought it would be simple? How could she have assumed that seeing Damon again wouldn’t hurt?

  Hurt? Sucker-punched was more like it. She could still barely breathe, and the stairs played no part in the problem. All the dreams she’d had of a life with Damon—she knew now they had never truly died. Her chest ached from the torment of simply seeing him once more.

  Please let me just hate him again. Please don’t make me go through the grieving one more time.

  As she resumed her ascent, she heard her phone ringing. She took the last stairs two at a time, composing her features, putting on her game face.

  Game face. Damon had taught her that phrase, amid long afternoons of laughter, as she tried to understand the peculiarities of football when Damon organized pick-up games at a park near the temple, trying to give the disparate group of Fan Lee’s fledglings a time of fun.

  She could still see his harsh face made beautiful when he laughed, those sky-blue eyes lighting up as she made up her own rules when she didn’t like his.

  Stop it, stop it, stop it!

  She jammed the key in the door and was quickly through it. “Hello?”

  “Lily? This is Joanna.”

  “Joanna—is something wrong with Gregory?”

  “No, no,” Joanna’s silvery laughter reassured her. “He’s fine. I just need to find out if we could change the time of your visit on Friday.”

  “Change it?” They’d never asked before. She had appointments at the center, she had—

  “Lily? Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She ran one hand through her hair, her mind racing. She had appointments all morning, she couldn’t—Never mind—she wouldn’t miss her time with Gregory. “Yes, I’m fine. What change did you have in mind?”

  “Well, Gregory’s been invited to a birthday party that afternoon, and he’d really like to go.”

  “Sure—sure, I understand.” Sinking to the floor, Lily gripped her hair tightly in her free hand. “What time would you prefer?”

 
“Could we make it either earlier or after six?”

  Oh, God. She’d figure it out somehow. “Could I—would it be all right for me to take him to eat? I could pick him up about six-thirty.”

  “He may not want to eat much, after birthday cake.”

  “Sure, that—that makes sense. But still—” Biting her lip not to cry, she opened her eyes wider and stood up. “I’d still like to do that, Joanna. Please.”

  “Oh, absolutely, Lily. No problem. We’ll see you then.”

  Slowly, as though it were Gregory and not a dial tone on the other end, she replaced the receiver in its cradle. Gently… as she ached to hold her child.

  Staring sightlessly out the window, Lily gripped the wood surrounding the windowpane, laying her forehead against the cool glass.

  A birthday party. With friends she didn’t know. Would never know. And soon it would be his own birthday, with his mother a bystander, at best. It would be Ken blowing up the balloons, Joanna baking a cake. His cake. Gregory’s cake.

  Her own son’s cake. That she wouldn’t be baking.

  Tears flowed down the glass inside, tracing the path of the raindrops beyond.

  Damon stood before her, silent, strain in every line of his body, wary anger in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Damon?” Easy with his body, she reached out and stroked his jaw, surprised and worried when he flinched. “Hey… what is it?”

  “I have to go.”

  “Go?”

  Dark thoughts clouded his eyes. “An assignment.”

  “Oh, Damon, no,” she blurted, then stopped abruptly, lowering her gaze. He wouldn’t go if he didn’t have to; she knew all too well the price each assignment levied on his soul. Glancing up again, she laid one hand on his chest, right over his heart. “I’m sorry.”

  “Ah, Little Pearl, I wish—” Raw aching screamed from his eyes as he called her by the pet name Fan Lee had given her.

  “Sh-h-h,” she covered his lips with her fingers. “I know. You wouldn’t be leaving us if you had any other choice. Just promise me you’ll come back safely.” Her voice grew fierce. “Come back to my arms, Damon. That’s all that matters, that you come home.”

  A groan issued from his lips as he pulled her roughly into his arms, gentling his hold to reverence, but keeping her close to his big warm body. Stroking her hair, murmuring sounds meant to soothe himself as much as her, perhaps, a fine trembling ran through his frame.

  With one hand, he tilted her head back, framing her jaw, his thumb caressing her throat. “Lily,” his voice grew husky, “It’s the last time, I swear. If I could make things different, I would. This isn’t the man I want to be any more. I want to be here with you. I want to take care of you and Fan Lee and Chang and all the others.”

  He looked away, jaw working. “I’ve never had a home before. Never thought I ever would.” Turning back, his gaze bored into her, seeming to reach down inside her heart. “Keep a light on for me, Lily. I’ll be back.”

  And then his head lowered to hers, his breath warming her lips just before his own warm flesh touched hers, and the magic began again.

  Almost reverently, his tongue glided over her bottom lip, tickling and teasing until she raised up on her toes to get closer and her own tongue slid across the underside of his, drawing him nearer.

  Damon’s arms tightened around her, pressing her close. Lily’s arms moved upward, to surround his strong neck and drive her fingers through his silky mink-brown hair. One large hand splayed across her bottom, holding her close so she could feel his need, while his other arm bent her slightly backward and his hot mouth traced a path down the valley of her throat.

  Lily twined one leg around the back of his muscular thigh, her pelvis rocking slightly. The flame that had never gone out since Damon had brought her into full understanding of her womanhood, flared like a gas jet turned up high. Blinding terror that he might be hurt drove her higher, desperate to be joined with him once more.

  Damon, too, seemed to feel it. When one hand slid up her side beneath her blouse, the heat of his hand marking a path from waist to just beneath the curve of her breast, she felt his fingers tighten on her skin, his thumb beginning to slide across the lower curve, and his lower body rocking against her own. With a muffled curse, he took her mouth as though he could draw her within himself… could hide her away so that they never had to part again.

  Dangerous promises, his mouth made to hers. Promises… sighs… whispers of magic.

  She clenched her fingers in his dark mane, nails lightly scraping his skull as she held him to her, wishing she never had to let go.

  When he drew away, they were both gasping for breath, chests heaving, eyes wide and dark with the power between them.

  Then Damon slowly closed his eyes, sorrow bleeding from beneath the lids. His thumb lightly caressed her lips, and he drew a deep breath.

  When he opened them again, she saw the shimmer of moisture a man like Damon would never give up easily.

  “Keep the light on for me, Lily. I’ll be back.” He dropped his hand and turned, walking away without a backward glance.

  The last kiss. As Lily pulled her face away from the windowpane, she swiped at the trails of tears with the back of her hands.

  It had been the last kiss she and Damon had ever shared. The last time she’d thought the world held hope. The true end of Lily’s innocence had come not long after. When love such as she’d never dared believe she deserved to have, had proven to be false.

  As sweet as that kiss was, it had been a Judas kiss.

  She’d kept the light on, but that Damon had never returned.

  Chapter Three

  “Lily? Got a minute?”

  Lily jerked around from where she was frantically stuffing papers in her tote bag. It was five-thirty, and she’d be hard-pressed to get to Gregory’s on time if she didn’t leave very soon.

  The young black woman stood there, shifting from one foot to the other, hands twisting over and over one another.

  Lily exhaled, summoning threads of the calm she’d once had in abundance. “Sure, Tracey. What’s up?”

  “I—” the young woman looked away, then back, slowly. Gnawing on her lower lip, she took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I can take care of my baby, Lily.” Dark brown eyes suddenly filled with moisture.

  Lily set down her bag with a thump, holding out her arms. “Come here.”

  Though Tracey exceeded her in height and her protruding stomach kept them apart, Lily managed to cradle the girl’s head on her shoulder, rubbing circles on her back while she spoke. “It’s normal to be scared, Tracey. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t worry about your ability to care for your baby.” She felt the girl’s tears hot against her neck. “Even women who have partners to help them raise the child get scared.”

  Tracey straightened, brushing at her cheeks. “I just don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, keeping my baby.”

  “I’m not going to tell you what’s the right thing to do. You have to make that decision yourself. I just don’t want you to—” Lily shook her head, angry that she’d been about to reveal her own grief over giving up her child. “I just want you to have the best chance to keep your baby that I can possibly provide.” Holding the girl by the shoulders, she looked hard into the brown eyes. “You know we’ll be here for you, don’t you? That you can call or come by anytime?”

  Tracey nodded, sniffing.

  Lily handed her a tissue. “I’m not going to kid you and tell you it will be easy, whatever your decision. That’s not what we’re about, here. But you won’t be alone, Tracey. No matter what you decide.”

  Tears spilled over the girl’s lashes again. She reached out and gave Lily a big hug. “Thanks, Lily.” Laughing a little shakily, she stepped back. “I guess I just lost my nerve for a minute. I do want to keep my baby.”

  Inwardly, Lily breathed a sigh of relief. That’s what she’d spent her nights and days doing, ever since she’d had to give up her own child for
his safety—trying to make sure that any unwed mother who wanted to keep her child had the resources behind her to make it possible.

  The Mother Lode, as they’d named it, provided limited prenatal care and referrals, Lamaze training, job counseling, tutoring services, apartment locating—you name it. The needs of a young woman with no husband were many as she stared at the prospect of single motherhood. It was a daunting path, and Lily’s own anguish over not being able to raise her own child had been transmuted into this job that was much more than a job.

  It was Lily’s salvation.

  Glancing at her watch, she made one quick survey of the room, then grabbed her bag and raced out the door.

  “Hi, Aunt Lily!” In the doorway, looking so much like Damon it made Lily’s heart ache, stood her son. “Boy, I went to this birthday party today, and you wouldn’t believe all the cool stuff we did!”

  Dropping to her knees before him, Lily drank in the sight of him. “Really? Like what?”

  While Gregory chatted, hopping from one leg to the other in his excitement, Lily listened to every word, but her eyes roved ceaselessly over her child, scanning for changes, new angles emerging from babyish roundness.

  She could see in him, more strongly than ever, Damon’s high cheekbones, the slant of his dark brows, the thick black lashes. But the eyes shouted out his parentage most clearly. Deep wells of Damon’s aquamarine, always a shock in the face of a dark, brooding archangel.

  In Gregory’s excitement, those same eyes sparkled, glistened like stones beneath clear, bubbling waters.

  “—and then I jumped into this big pile of colored balls that was this big, Aunt Lily!” One hand stretched as high as it would go, Gregory stood on tiptoes to raise the mark higher.