Drake Sisters 01 - Magic in the Wind

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 air. I was hoping you would tell me what preservative you used."
    Sarah leaned back in her chair, brought the teacup to her mouth. She had a beautiful mouth. Wide and full and curved as if she laughed all the time. Or invited kisses. The thought came unbidden as he stared at her mouth. Sheer temptation.
    Damon felt the weight of her gaze. Color began to creep up the back of his neck.
    "I see. You came out late in the evening even though you were hurting because you were anxious to know what kind of preservative I use on my house. That certainly makes perfect sense."
    There was no amusement in her voice, not even a hint of sarcasm, but the dull red color spread to his face. Her eyes saw too much, saw into him where he didn't want to be seen, where he couldn't afford to be seen. He wanted to look away but he couldn't seem to pull his gaze from hers.
    “Tell me why you're really here." Her voice was soft, inviting confidence.
    He raked both hands through his hair in frustration. "I honestly don't know. I'm sorry for invading your privacy." But he wasn't. It was a lie and they both knew it.
    She took another sip of tea and gestured toward his mug.
    "Drink it. It's a special blend I make myself. I think you'll like it and I know it will make you feel better." She grinned at him. "I can promise you there aren't any toads or eye of newt in it."
    Sarah's smile robbed him of breath immediately. It was a strange thing to feel a punch in the gut so hard it drove the air out of one's lungs just with a simple smile. He waited several heartbeats until he recovered enough to speak. "Why do you think I need to feel better?" he asked, striving for nonchalance.
    "I don't have to be a seer for that, Damon. You're limping.
    There are white lines around your mouth and your leg is trembling."
    Damon raised the cup to his mouth, took a cautious sip of the brew. The taste was unique. "I was attacked awhile back."
    The words emerged before he could stop them. Horrified, he stared into the tea mug, afraid her brew was a truth serum.
    Sarah put her teacup carefully on the table. "A person attacked you?"
    "Well, he wasn't an alien." He swallowed a gulp of tea.
    The heat warmed him, spreading through his body to reach sore, painful places.
    "Why would one man want to kill another?" Sarah mused aloud. "I've never understood that. Money is such a silly reason really."
    "Most people don't think so." He rubbed his head as if it hurt, or maybe in memory. "People kill for all sorts of reasons, Sarah."
    "How awful for you. I hope he was caught."
    Before he could stop himself, Damon shook his head. Her vivid gaze settled on his face, looked inside of him again until he wanted to curse. "I was able to get away, but my assistant"—he stopped, corrected himself—"my friend wasn't so lucky."
    "Oh, Damon, I'm so sorry."
    "I don't want to think about it." He couldn't. It was too close, too raw. Still in his nightmares, still in his heart and soul. He could hear the echoes of screams. He could see the pleading in Dan Treadway's eyes. He would carry that sight to his death, forever etched in his brain. At once the pain was almost too much to bear. He wept inside, his chest burning, his throat clogging with grief.
    Sarah reached across the table to place her fingertips on his head. The gesture seemed natural, casual even, and her touch was so light