“You’re exhausted,” he heard Harmony say.
“I’ve rested long enough, lass. It’s time to put me to work. You name the task, anything at all, and I will devote myself to its thorough completion.”
Another contemplative spark flashed in her brown eyes, quickly quenched, but not before he felt the answering heat in his loins.
Hell’s bells, living in her presence was going to be torture. Lucifer, you have truly crafted the ultimate punishment.
Rather hoarsely, Damon said, “Show me where I might find the tools of my labors.”
Harmony’s gaze dropped. Then the red patches on her cheeks flared and she cleared her throat. “Oh, tools. Right. Everything’s over here.” She walked away very fast, but somehow he knew she wanted him to follow. “Everything you need. Thanks to my brothers and Home Depot.”
“The men in your family have chosen well for you.” Damon selected a shovel, hefting it into his hand, and heard the tear of fabric. He glanced down with dread at the same time Harmony made a small sound. His shirt had split, exposing much of his chest and torso.
Harmony ran off. For an instant he wondered if he’d scared her off for good, but she hurried back to him with the bundles she’d carried into the barn. “These are for you, and none too soon.” She shoved the packages into his hands, her attention shifting somewhere else, as if she were both tempted and afraid to look at the strips of fabric hanging from the ruined shirt. “New work clothes—and in your size, too. Now you don’t have to worry about them coming off until they’re taken off!” Her eyes squeezed shut, as if the comment about taking off clothing had embarrassed her.
“Lass, you’ve given me too much as it is—”
Her hands came up to stop his protest. “Don’t worry about the cost. We’ll work it out.”
“Aye. That we will.”
She met his eyes and blushed deeply, and he wasn’t sure why. Again, Damon tasted the air, trying to gather more information to help understand her baffling reactions—and his. She desired him, as he desired her. She could not hide the fact. It hung in the air, it permeated his senses.
Harmony’s attraction to him, combined with his for her, was sharp and powerful, fueling passionate thoughts of sliding his hands under the garments she wore to feel the heat of her bare skin, which only exacerbated the sexual hunger building with each breath he took. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he reacted physically with the thought, growing rock hard with a new-to-him ache that left him barely able to breathe. It reminded him of the sensation when Lucifer set fires so intense that they sucked all the air from the chambers of Hell. Only this was nothing close to suffocation!
Damon clutched the bundle of clothes to his lower abdomen, sharply relieved at having a way to cover up as sexual desire, a cataclysm of need, boiled up inside him. Never before had he been forced to face his reactions to a mortal. To a woman. To anyone.
But ye will have to behave. You’re a man now. A good man.
Good, good, good, good. If he chanted it, it might sink in. Good men did not drag women like Harmony to their mouths to kiss deeply as they fell, clothes scattering, to the ground, where he’d kiss her everywhere else—
Damon made a sound in the back of his throat. Good, good, good . . .
A chiming little tune rang out from Harmony’s pants, startling Damon as much as it did the lass.
She tore her eyes from his, mumbling something about taking a “call” on her “cell phone” as she pulled a little silver rectangle from her pocket. “I should have guessed,” she said, reading the glowing numbers. “What is it about fathers and timing?” She pushed a button and spoke into the phone. “Hi, Daddy!”
While Harmony was otherwise distracted, Damon, trying with all his might to block the distraction of her scent, grabbed a pickax off a hook on the wall.
She had a family, he thought, and then wondered at his surprise. Of course she had a family. All humans did. Unlike him, they weren’t born of shadows and darkness, the Devil’s spawn.
“I’m doing great. How are you and Mama? And Great-grandma?” Harmony nodded, smiling as she listened. Then her grin faltered. “What did Great-grandma say?” Harmony’s gaze shifted to Damon and darted away. The red patches were back, one on each cheek. “No, I haven’t had much time for a social life. No, really! I’ve been too busy—yes, busy with the church. Oh, yes, the people here are wonderful. Just great. I’m so happy—you’re what?” She almost dropped the cell phone. “You’re coming here? In August?” she squeaked. “No, it’ll be no trouble. I can’t wait to see you, Daddy. Look, I gotta run. Church business. Give my love to Mama and everyone else. Miss you.”
Harmony sighed as she wedged the cell phone into her pocket. “Why did I do that?”
Damon shook his head. “Do what, lass?”
“My father’s coming for a visit, in less than two months. With the entire family!” She pressed her fingertips into her temples, muttering, “And they’re dying to see the thriving church community I just told him about.”
“You dinna tell him that,” Damon pointed out tactfully. “I was listening.”
“My father made a guess based on what I told him, and I didn’t deny it. That’s just as bad! I lied to a pastor—and I am a pastor!” She glanced heavenward, appearing truly repentant as she murmured a prayer. Then she wiped her hands on her pants. “Well, there’s only one thing to do, Damon, and that’s to make what I told my father true. Somehow, I’m going to come up with a way to reel in the townspeople to this church on Sundays—and fast.” She started walking to the door. “When all else fails, cook on it.”
“Cook on it?” he asked and she laughed from where she stood near the open door encircled by sunshine streaming around her like a halo.
“When I have problems to solve, I head to the kitchen. I think the best when I’m cooking things. Always have, always will. Since this is a big problem, you’ll have a big dinner to look forward to.”
Damon remembered the food from the midday meal and salivated. His stomach grumbled so loudly that he was surprised she didn’t hear it.
“Home-made fried chicken,” she muttered as she walked away, already deep in thought. “Mashed potatoes and gravy . . . buttered corn . . . peach cobbler for dessert . . .”
He watched her go. Well, lass, ye are not in this alone, no matter what ye think. This was his chance to help her, to prove himself worthy of her generosity. If his fair maiden needed a knight in shining armor, then that was what she’d get. While he worked at his assigned labors, he’d come up with a way to help her, though he knew not how a former demon could help fill a church with the faithful.
Aye, but he’d figure it out. Yes, he would, and quickly.
There was no time to change into his new clothing. In his new and very mortal life, there wasn’t a moment to waste. Not having eternity before him cast everything in a different light, in fact. Although he’d developed a certain respect for humans when he’d committed his crimes—no, his deeds—of mercy, only now that he was one of them did he fully appreciate the humans’ courage in facing a finite life. With the puppy trotting after him, he strode out into the sunshine with the promise that he, too, would brave his mortality like the man he was—or at least like the man he hoped one day to be.
And so it was that Damon of Mysteria officially began his new life as a mortaclass="underline" by digging postholes to shore up a weakened section of the front fence.
Seven
After an hour of working outside, the weather grew so hot that sweat soaked through his ruined shirt. Tossing aside the tattered garment, he continued bare-chested.