Summon Lyght(19)

Another enamel cabinet held the sink, with racks for dishes and tableware at the top, and more storage under. Next to the sink stood a massive 1950s-era gas cook stove with warming bins on top. Miya had maximized the timeless quality of the house and put her own stamp on it with artistic touches that fit perfectly. She'd taken what most people would toss out and made it not only serviceable, but beautiful. Miya's quaint little house was too clean and too pure for the likes of her. Nothing could scrub away the hell Kassie had survived. She was certain of it.

But then, that…oh God… angel—Kassie could hardly bring herself to think the words, especially with how she felt about him—had touched her. The nightmare hadn't disappeared like it never happened, but it had become bearable. She no longer felt as if her soul had been shredded. She would live, and her body and spirit would mend.

But even in thanking him, she'd done wrong. She couldn't simply fall to her knees and offer a prayer of gratitude. No. Not her. Instead, she'd kissed him. Oh God she'd kissed him like the brazen whore she was. She should wish for the ground to open up and swallow her, or for God to strike her down. But oh God what a kiss! Try as she might, no matter how wrong it was, she couldn't resist hoping it would happen again.

Everything was happening so fast, like a dream. Nothing felt real since three rough-looking strangers shoved into her kitchen and forced her up against the counter at knifepoint while they demanded to see Carrington. The nightmare started in that heartbeat and didn't end until Lyght scooped her and Tyler up in his arms in that damn rabbit hole those bastards had shoved them in. It could all very easily turn out to be a dream after all. And while part of her wished that were the case, most of her begged for it to be real. At the same time, terror rode her hard that only the nightmare portion would prove true, that Lyght was nothing more than a dream.

He was…So. Very. Beautiful. Real or dream, he was better than anyone like her deserved to behold. And she'd kissed him.

And he kissed her back.

She had been very happy for her Sam finding such an amazing man as Toren, but she wouldn't lie. At the same time, she'd been shamefully envious. She wanted a man like that to love her. Maybe she didn't deserve it, but she wanted it.

And that made her feel even worse, as if the desire were a betrayal of her sweet Bill. Her love for him had been very real, but with more than a thirty year gap in age, the love making hadn't been all she might have hoped for. And as the ranch foreman, Bill had borne witness to the dirty details of Kassie's life there with Sam's bastard of a father. So when he was diagnosed with a terminal illness, he offered marriage and a degree of financial security in exchange for friendship and care in his last years. The only reason Sam's father allowed it was because Bill had cleverly asked her publicly, then turned and asked for the bastard's blessing. As much as that had irked Kassie, she knew Bill had done it that way to ensure his cooperation.

Then Bill finally died. Kassie never expected to care for another man, or to even want to, but she hadn't realized how much she had come to depend on his friendship to help her cope. It wasn't long before loneliness began to take a serious toll.

When Toren came along, she was sure Sam had snagged the last good man—and the hottest—on Earth. Until this guy Lyght showed up. What a name. What eyes. What a body. Oh. My. God. What a kisser!

Kassie placed a hand on her stomach to still the flock of butterflies threatening to fly off and take her with them. She busied herself with the breakfast dishes out of desperation for something to occupy her hands while the vivid memory replayed with swooning force. Miya and Lesedi were talking quietly in the living room offering no distraction from Mr. Perfection sitting at the tiny kitchen table, watching her.

Lord, she could feel his eyes on her. Of course he saw all her flaws, and her age. She'd always been prettier than average and as she grew older, everyone complimented her on how beautiful she was for her age. But, from the wrong side of thirty, she knew very well that a man—no, an angel—would clearly see every year, every heartache and every tear. They were all etched on her skin in the wrinkles and stretch marks. Oh God the stretch marks. They'd faded with age, nearly invisible in the right light, but she had far more than her fair share of them. The thought of him seeing them made her cringe. Then she cringed for even thinking he would. Of course he wouldn't. He'd have no interest in sex, let alone in sex with her. For God's sake, he was an angel!

Sudden warmth stirred the little hairs at the nape of her neck and Kassie turned, startled. "Shit!" There he stood, one lean hip resting against the edge of the counter, putting him right up in her personal space. That closet sized kitchen made escape impossible and forced her to stay put, her breasts a hairsbreadth from his chest. If she breathed too deeply her nipples would brush against his shirt. The thought tightened her lungs with the need for more air.