The Pearl of Paradise Page 3

  Resisting the urge to tuck back the dark locks falling over his forehead, Lily smiled. “And how did it feel?”

  “It was like falling into puffy marbles or something!”

  Lily could no more stop her grin than she could fly. She pushed away the thought that she’d be back on this doorstep in less than two hours, leaving him once again. Rising to her feet, she held out her hand. “Are you ready to leave?”

  “Sure! Just let me tell my mom ’bye.” He raced down the hallway, his voice singing out, “Joanna! I’m leaving with Aunt Lily!”

  Lily stood there, the joy of the moment eclipsed by the flood of anguish his words evoked.

  My mom.

  Oh, God, was she going to lose the last scrap of hope? Joanna had insisted that she would raise Gregory to call her by her given name, because she couldn’t bear to take that last bit of hope away from Lily. Though Lily had tried to give him up permanently, even in her heart—deep within she’d always clung to the hope that someday she’d be able to reclaim him. They’d agreed that he’d call her Aunt Lily and that if he asked, he’d be told that his birth mother was ill and couldn’t care for him right now.

  They’d both known it wouldn’t work forever, but Joanna had sworn she’d do her best. Though she loved Gregory with all her heart, she was Lily’s friend, too. She’d said she couldn’t bring herself to close the option that someday, Lily might be able to reclaim her child.

  And Lily had grasped at that hope like a dying man waiting for a pardon.

  Joanna returned with Gregory to see them off. She looked as stricken as Lily knew her own face must. “Hello, Lily. I’m sorry, he just—” Her gray eyes made the apology for the words she did not dare say in front of the boy.

  Lily shook her head, willing back the tears that clogged her throat. “We knew it might happen. It just hit me harder than—I guess I thought we’d have more time.”

  “Lily—” Joanna’s hand rose to clasp Lily’s own. “It didn’t mean anything.”

  She could barely meet Joanna’s eyes, so much did she want to run, to hide, to howl at the heavens. Taking a deep breath, she pasted a smile on her face. “Yes, it does. And I have to live with it.” Reaching out to squeeze her friend’s shoulder gently, Lily continued. “It’s not your fault, Joanna.”

  Before she broke down at the pity in her friend’s eyes, she turned away. “You ready, Gregory?”

  “Sure, Aunt Lily. Where are we going?” Placing his smaller hand in hers, Gregory led her down the sidewalk, dancing with barely-contained energy.

  While she answered him, Lily looked back at Joanna, whose fingers covered her mouth while one arm wrapped around her waist. Lily waved, hoping that Joanna would understand what she barely understood herself.

  That her aching envy of Joanna did not negate her profound gratitude.

  Maybe Damon was the lucky one. He couldn’t ache for what he didn’t know he had.

  Readying herself for bed that night, Lily paused before slipping Damon’s old t-shirt over her head. Holding it in her hands, her glance ranged over the red 49ers shirt, its gold lettering almost rubbed invisible.

  Smiling to herself, she shook her head, realizing for the first time how often she drew this shirt out of its hiding place in the back of her lingerie drawer when she was troubled. The cotton was so soft with age, it felt like silk, yet she could still remember vividly the first time she’d seen Damon wearing it, grinning like a pirate, sweat darkening huge patches of red to almost black.

  His bronzed skin had glistened with pearls of moisture, trailing down his lean, muscled neck, gleaming within the dark hairs on his forearms. They hadn’t yet become lovers, so Lily hadn’t quite understood the cause of the slow burn she’d felt deep in her belly nor the quick catch in her breath as she stood there beneath the trees, watching him while he teased the younger Chang. His white teeth had flashed from the tawny skin, and Lily’s heart had literally skipped a beat.

  Damon had given her the shirt later, to help her football skills improve, he’d laughingly said. Lily wondered if he’d ever thought of it again… ever imagined it holding her close, as he once had.

  What was she going to do? Feeling the ache of leaving Gregory, she questioned her intention to tell Damon of his son. No matter how he’d treated her, it wasn’t in her to hurt him. Would it hurt him more to know? Or to miss out on knowing that he’d fathered a fine, strong child?

  Lily straightened, slipping the t-shirt over her head. No scent of Damon still clung to the fabric, though she could still recall his clean, musky male scent overlaid with a tinge of the forest, somehow. She could almost imagine the feel of his strong arms around her, and for the first time in years, Lily allowed herself to dream. Slipping between the cool cotton sheets, she gave her mind free rein to think of him, to remember him as he once was to her… the man who’d shown her magic… the man who’d brought her into womanhood… the man who’d made her feel safer than she’d ever felt before… or since.

  She’d sleep on her dilemma… and hope her dreams would show her the right path.

  After a restless night filled with dreams of Damon, after a long day at work, Lily stood outside the round gate at the front of the temple grounds, hugging the shadows.

  Whatever Damon had done to her in the past, however much he had hurt her, Lily felt it in her marrow that she had to try whatever she could to give him a reason to live, to be careful. And that meant telling him about his son.

  She’d awakened, hurting… still puzzling over how she’d been so wrong about his feelings for her… remembering the sensation that her heart had been torn from her chest. After Damon had made it so clear that he’d only succumbed to temptation with Lily, that he would never truly love her or any woman, she’d stumbled upon him and that—woman, practically eating one another alive.

  Lily shook her head. She couldn’t think about how he’d broken her heart. She’d been a naive fool to believe that she’d been special to him. Knowing she should be grateful that she’d been initiated into womanhood by such a skilled lover, Lily realized now that she’d made a bush-league mistake, confusing passion with love.

  Damon’s head had been clearer. He’d known their time together for what it was—a simple joining of man and woman in the full blush of youthful desire. He’d tried to let her down gently after he’d returned, but in the chaos of Fan Lee’s death, she hadn’t listened, hadn’t understood.

  So he’d driven the lesson home—the hard way.

  No matter how hard their parting, though, the night just passed had brought her too many memories of a good man, a man who’d tired of killing… but a man who would never stand aside and let others be harmed when he himself was the target.

  So she was back, to fulfill her objective this time—back, to tell Damon he had a child.

  Back, to beg him to live for the sake of his son.

  Drawing a deep breath, she stepped through the gateway to face him. Walking along the stone path toward his quarters, she stopped as she crossed the tiny bridge over Fan Lee’s pond and scanned her first sight in five years of a scene she’d always found enchanting. A sudden longing for Fan Lee and his gentle ways swept over her.

  “Little Pearl, joy does not always wait for you to recognize it. You must learn to see it through layers of disguise.”

  Little Pearl. He’d called her that from the first, but never explained why. And he’d been right. This place was still a place of joy, beneath all the memories she’d let obscure that fact. She’d been too caught up in pain—of losing Damon, of finding herself pregnant and alone, of giving up the child of her heart. All those hurts had obscured the good memories of this place.

  A cloud moved across the moon, and when it passed, the light illuminated a figure on the other side of the pond, shrouded in shadows.

  Damon.

  But he hadn’t yet sensed her presence. She studied the lines of fatigue in his body, the disheartened set of his head. So alone. So very alone.

  She recalle
d the resignation in his tone, the weary edginess of a man fighting a war within himself, a battle between a promise made to a dying man and duty toward those left behind. She knew in her heart that he had far too much courage, too great a sense of responsibility to stay inside these walls for much longer. Whatever she could do to keep him safe, she must try.

  Swiftly and silently, she covered the distance between them, his inward concentration so great that she made it within several feet before he sensed her. When he turned around to face her, first shock, then naked longing flowed across his strong features. Compelled toward that longing like a moth to flame, she moved closer, wanting to comfort him. Deeply moved by the sight of a man so indomitable looking that vulnerable, Lily closed the distance between them. With little thought for anything but the wounded heart she saw before her, Lily reached out and touched Damon’s arm.

  For one long, precious moment, time itself stood still.

  Damon thought at first that he must be imagining her. He’d hardly thought of anything else, these last two days, so his mind must have conjured up a likeness so real that she seemed to be standing before him.

  And then she touched him, and he knew he wasn’t dreaming. Lily was here. She was real. He struggled to regain his mask of indifference, but she was too close. He’d missed her too much, needed her too much.

  In that long, quiet moment, two hearts shifted. Damon looked down at her pale, delicate hand on his bicep. Deep within him, a warming current began to flow, spiraling downward from the surface where her skin touched his… and beginning to thaw his frozen heart.

  For frozen it had been, since the day he’d forced her away. Cold… lonely… silent, his heart had remained through all the days, hours, minutes, since last he’d held her in love.

  And Damon was tired. Tired of his lonely vigil. Tired of being half a man. Tired of fighting his mind during the day… and tired of only having Lily with him in his dreams.

  Almost afraid to breathe, for fear she would move away, Damon willed her hand to stay even as he raised his other arm to place one hand lightly, reverently upon her cheek.

  Lily’s eyes, always sable mysteries, had darkened into infinity. In them he saw emotions he’d never dared hope she would share with him again. Soft, tender emotions… but fear shimmered there, too, and Damon damned himself for being the one to put it there.

  He’d wanted only to teach Lily what he knew of love, though she’d been by far the better teacher. Never had he thought he’d find his only option to hurt her. He had many scores to settle with Kwan.

  “Lily.” He barely recognized his own voice, so husky it was with all the emotion he’d pent up for so long. Pleading with his eyes for the forgiveness he could not yet ask, Damon slowly lowered his head, bringing his lips within a breath of hers.

  “Little Pearl,” he whispered, as though a prayer. Then he touched her lips almost reverently with his own.

  The aching of five long years, the memories of their brief time together, seeing her so near, feeling her so close—after all the battles to stay away from her, Damon could not pull back this time.

  He drew Lily into his arms, using the hand on her cheek to slant her head, giving him better access to the hot sweetness of her mouth. When Lily issued a tiny moan, Damon felt it through his whole body, electrifying him as though he’d touched a naked wire.

  The years fell away, and he was engulfed in a bliss he’d thought he’d never know again—the bliss of having Lily fit so perfectly into his arms, Lily’s soul mingling with his own in the dark emptiness that had been his heart. The balm of Lily, the sense of completion only she had ever given him… the hope, the joy… all these and more flowed into Damon’s lonely, aching heart and opened him up, for the first time in five years, to a sense that he was not so alone.

  And with that opening came a surge of such heat, such fierce need, a shot of possessiveness so strong it rocked him to his toes.

  Mine. She’s always been mine—and God, I need her so.

  Damon’s tongue swept within Lily’s warm velvet mouth, and as he deepened the kiss, he felt her rise to her toes to get closer. Her hands rose over his arms and across his shoulders, to bury themselves in his hair. She whimpered slightly, bringing the vee of her body against the hardness of his.

  Damon moved one hand to rock her closer, a wave of such dizzying desire ratcheting through him that he growled, deep in his throat.

  “Damon? Are you out here?”

  He felt the shock bolt through Lily as it lashed through him, but he kept her close, aware now of where they were, the knowledge that nothing had changed making his stomach drop—but not willing to let her go yet.

  Lily pulled back from the kiss, trying to step away, breathing heavily.

  He kept one arm around her, holding her chin between his fingers while he answered. “What do you want, Callie?”

  Lily wiggled, but he held her still.

  “Do you know—oh! Sorry, Damon. It can wait.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah… sure, yes—it can wait. Really, Damon. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later, okay?”

  Damon smiled slightly as Callie beat a hasty retreat. Closing his eyes for a moment and leaning his forehead against Lily’s, he rubbed a slow circle on Lily’s back, wishing with all his might that he had the power to put them back about two minutes ago.

  Or five years.

  “Damon, I—”

  “Sh-h-h. I know. I’m sorry. I had no right.” Swallowing a mountain of regret, he set her back from him and turned away, bitterly aware that he might have just undone five years of agonizing effort.

  “Maybe I should go.”

  He nodded. “You should.” Holding his breath, he waited to hear her footsteps, knowing he would spare himself the pain of watching her leave.

  She didn’t move. In the darkness, the sound of the breeze through the willows next to the pond sighed and swished as though mourning with him.

  “Damon, I came here to tell you something.”

  “To argue with me again?”

  “No—well, yes, but that’s not the main reason I came.”

  He waited.

  “Could we—could we sit down?” Nerves shook her voice slightly.

  Frowning, he turned toward her, gesturing to the bench he’d been occupying when she arrived. With her usual grace, Lily sat down, then waited patiently with that sphinx-like face she’d always been able to use to mask her feelings. She’d learned it at a tender age as self-protection.

  His stomach clenched. Preferring to pace, he sat beside her reluctantly and gazed at the water. She’d get to it when she was ready. He didn’t think he wanted to hear it, whatever it was, if it was making her this nervous.

  “Damon,” she ran her tongue over dry lips. “You have a son.”

  Chapter Four

  He damn near broke his neck doing a double-take, sure he hadn’t heard her right. “What?”

  Lily looked ahead, and he could see her throat bob as she swallowed heavily. Clearing her throat, she spoke again. “You have a son. His name is Gregory.”

  Damon pulled her around to face him, holding her slender shoulders in a close grip as if he could comprehend better by holding on tight. Of all the things he might have guessed she’d say, this wasn’t on the list.

  Her face was pinched with worry, her perfect mask slipping to show him eyes ravaged with grief.

  “What’s wrong? Where is he?”

  “He’s safe.”

  “Where is he? I want to see him.” Damon stood up, unable to process the implications. He felt split between sheer, explosive joy—and a simmering rage that was beginning to spill over his ability to contain it.

  “He’s safe,” Lily repeated. “You can’t see him.” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I can’t, either.”

  “What do you mean?” he demanded, but suddenly he held up a hand for silence. He couldn’t take all this in, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could he not have known? If
he had a son walking this earth, why wouldn’t he have felt it, deep within him somewhere? He strode several paces away, then whirled around and came back, standing before her, breathing heavily as though he’d run a marathon.

  He studied the part in her hair, her tender pale skin showing between the black strands. Her head was bowed, her hands gripping one another tightly.

  Damon dropped to his heels before her, placing his hands over hers. “Tell me what you mean, Lily. Explain to me why you never told me about him.” He looked away, eyes suddenly damp. “Help me understand.”

  For a long moment, neither moved. Then Damon took a deep breath, hoping to still the confusion roiling through him, rendering him unable to think straight. He wanted to shout for joy—a child! A child of his had grown inside Lily—a child of both their hearts.

  But just as quickly, his heart plummeted. He held back his temper with effort. She’d had a rich revenge on him, that was certain. He might have withheld paradise from her… but she’d withheld eternity.

  Looking at her vulnerable pose, Damon calmed somewhat, resolving to listen first, instead of judging. He raised his eyes to hers, speaking low. “How old is he?”

  “Four and a half.”

  “His name is Gregory?”

  She nodded, eyes shimmering.

  “Did you know?” When I threw you out?

  Her look told him she understood the remainder of his question. She shook her head. “No.”

  Damon closed his eyes, dropping his head but still holding onto her hands. Looking at the ground, he continued. “I don’t need to ask why you didn’t tell me, once you knew.”

  When she didn’t answer, his throat tightened. “That’s it—I’m going after Kwan.

  “No! That’s not why I told you! I—I wanted you to know you have a reason to stay alive.” Urgency tinged her voice. “Damon, you can’t go after Kwan.”

  Glancing up, he saw that her tears had spilled over her lashes, running streaks turned silvery in the moonlight brushing her cheeks. For a moment, he thought his pain might suffocate him. What had he done? He’d been trying to do the right thing to protect her, but instead, he’d sent her away, alone and pregnant, having to survive God knows what all on her own.