The Beholder by Connie Hall Page B

cheeks. He’d never seen a more stunning face in his life. It almost hurt to look into those eyes, and he found himself staring at her lips. They were red and plump and glistening.
    She must have felt the awkward moment betweenthem, too, because she sat up and said, “How are you?” She yawned and stretched, and he saw that she had small but nicely formed breasts under that bulky sweater and endless pairs of underwear.
    “Better,” he said. “Why did you do it?”
    “I was hungry.” She looked over at the pretzels.
    “Not that. Why did you stay with me?”
    “Because I couldn’t leave you.” She sounded matter-of-fact as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to do. She began finger-combing her long hair.
    “You should have,” he said, intently watching her fingers sliding through the glossy mane. He wished it were his hand.
    “Do you realize what you’re saying? You could have bled to death.”
    “If our situations were reversed, I would have left you and escaped.” He knew he sounded harsh and callous, more to convince himself that he didn’t feel anything for her.
    “Well, you’re lucky then that I’m not you.” She threw her hair over her shoulder, and it hit her back with a plop.
    “Can’t argue that point.”
    “Have we found some common ground?” she asked, her eyes searching his.
    She seemed to peer straight into his innermost self, the dark place that had destroyed all he cared about. Someday he knew it would destroy him, too. “Doubt it,” he said flatly.
    She arched a brow. “I don’t know. You might have been heartless yesterday, but today, after you’ve felt arandom act of kindness from someone—” she pointed to her own chest, and he got another eyeful of her breasts “—could you honestly say you wouldn’t have helped me?”
    “I’m not letting you go, if that’s what you’re fishing for.” He shot her his most dangerous look, the expression that warned others to be on guard.
    “I’m being serious here. I’m not trying to manipulate you. Would you have helped me?”
    He looked into her searching blue eyes and told her what she wanted to hear. “Maybe, if I could have gotten away.”
    “I’m glad you’re not a total lost cause.”
    “I wouldn’t bet on it. The world is full of darkness, and you can’t change that.”
    She met his eyes squarely, unblinking. “Only if you seek it out.”
    “No need to go looking. It finds you.”
    “If you invite it in. You see, I have this theory.” She raised her brows and had that forthright untainted expression that he was beginning to recognize and appreciate. “That if you do one good deed, then you receive that measure of kindness back tenfold. And it registers in our consciousness and changes us and allows more goodness to enter our lives. Same thing with evil. It comes in if we allow it.”
    It physically hurt to not reach down and grab her and show her his own form of happiness. It took all of his concentration as he said, “Then you don’t believe in absolute evil.”
    “Of course I do.” She cut her eyes at him. “Demonsare evil and unredeemable, but creatures such as yourself, who have two skins, and those like me—” she motioned to herself “—who are all human, we have a conscience and therefore free will and the capacity and receptiveness required for goodness to drop seeds. And we can control our destiny and not let negative energy in our lives.”
    Kane studied her a moment. She seemed so trusting and naïve and genuinely serious. He didn’t think this was a Little Miss Sunshine act. He was seeing the real Nina Rainwater. He wished he wasn’t so jaded by life and said, “You’re young and easily taken in. What until you’ve lived awhile.”
    “You speak like you’re ancient. You couldn’t be that much older than me.” She cocked her head to the side, and her hair fell over her shoulder. It was a flirtatious gesture, used by females over the ages, but he was certain she had