Kiss of an Angel by Janelle Denison Page B

skill while on a mission to pass idle time. Tonight, however, she was
compelled
to draw, and the pictures she created confused her. The boy she’d drawn was familiar to her, but where and how did she know him? Had she been his guardian angel at one time? And why, when she closed her eyes, did she see flashes of him and a blond-haired girl running across a pasture together, laughing and smiling at one another? The two were in love, she realized. Even at their young age the emotion shone in their gaze.
    Caitlan blinked her eyes open, erasing the images. A pang of longing swept through her, a wave so strong it left her breathless. Staring at the sketch of the boy, she concentrated, digging deep into her mind for the mysterious connection tugging at her. A man’s features materialized, but before she could bring them into sharper focus, a pain seized her temples. Gasping at the assault, she mentally recoiled, abandoning the thin, wispy vision. Beneath her jersey the medallion heated, tingling like fire upon her flesh. Grabbing the pendant in her shirt, she waited until the gold cooled before letting it rest against her skin again. For a reason she didn’t understand her subconscious wasn’t allowing her to trespass into certain regions of her memory.
    Drawing in a slow, steadying breath, Caitlan willed herself to relax. Glancing out the window to the shadowed darkness beyond, she thought about her mission. She was glad J.T. had confided in her earlier about Randal. Now she understood Randal’s motivation for trying to harm J.T.  Greed and resentment. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d played guardian to those evil elements.
    However, her response to J.T. was another matter altogether. This was the first time she’d ever felt desire for a mortal as a guardian. A shameless wanting that whispered provocatively to her senses. What would it be like to kiss him again, this time without him thinking her another woman? Realizing how selfish her thoughts were, she silently chastised herself. Nothing could come of them being together. Soon she would be gone, and she’d be nothing more than a faded memory to J.T. She didn’t need the added complication of their attraction while she protected him.
    The old ranch house creaked and settled and Caitlan glanced toward the staircase leading to the second floor. She wondered if J.T. slept well, or if his head was still giving him problems. She’d healed the worst of the wound, but a tortuous headache wouldn’t be uncommon as a repercussion to the deep gash he’d actually suffered.
    Before she could analyze her true intent, she stood and padded across the floor and up the stairs, telling herself the whole way that the urge to check on J.T. was purely maternal. Turning the knob, she slowly opened his door, grimacing when the hinges gave a small squeak of protest. She waited and watched the form on the bed, illuminated by the beam of moonlight filtering through the window. No movement. Soundlessly, she crossed to the bed, careful not to trip over the jeans and briefs heaped on the floor.
    J.T. lay on his back, gloriously naked, limbs sprawled, the blanket tangled at the foot of the bed. The only thing affording him a measure of modesty was the thin cotton sheet draped over one leg and the juncture of his thighs. Searching his face, she found his features relaxed and softened by slumber. He looked peaceful. His breathing was steady and deep. Even after she reassured herself he was fine, she didn’t leave.
    The muscular contours of his body fascinated her even though she’d seen him naked before. She followed the light sprinkling of hair covering his wide chest down to a stomach washboard lean. She wanted to touch him there, feel the strength of work-toughened muscles flex beneath her fingertips. His hip was bare, tapering to a hard, muscular thigh. Even his calf was defined and lean.
    A slow heat flowed through Caitlan, that curious desire coiling like a tight spring inside her.