Mikhael’s reaction wasn’t to become more soothing or gentle. Not that she would have expected that from him. But she didn’t anticipate his barbed humor transforming into something that filled the room with deadly purpose, his voice the steady steel of an executioner’s ax.
“I’ve hunted those who’ve committed that crime. By the time I deliver them to Hell, they’re begging for the mercy of the fire.”
He backed up, began to descend the stairs. When he’d gone several steps, he stopped. It put his head below the level of the landing railing, the straight balusters like the boundary of a cell door.
“One kiss,” he said.
“Excuse me?” Still torn between the ice of her reaction and the heat of his reply, she had to clear her throat.
He locked gazes with her. “After one kiss, if you don’t want what I have to offer, then we leave it at that. But don’t tell me you’re not game enough to try the one kiss. You have the courage of a wounded badger.”
It was a backhanded compliment, but the unexpected image did pull her back from that intense edge, put her back on her feet. Somewhat. She arched a brow. “Daring me to kiss you? Do I look that gullible?”
“No. I think you want what I have to offer, Raina. But you’re a smart woman. You’re denying yourself, because you know it’s dangerous to want things too much. I’m telling you that I’m a safe port. No strings attached, just pleasure.”
Safe was not an adjective she’d ever attach to Mikhael Roman, half-naked and slouching with sensual awareness against the wall of her staircase. “I suppose you’re offering this out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Hell, no,” he said mildly. “I’ll definitely get something out of it.” His attention slid over her lips, making her moisten them in reaction. It resulted in another flare in those dark eyes. They were feeding each other’s flames, and in short order the two desires would become one conflagration. Unless she did something to stop her slide down this slippery slope, a headlong plunge into the fire.
“If you’re overcome by my kiss, as I’ve been assured any woman with a pulse will”—he nodded at her phone—“I might get laid. As I said, I don’t do a lot of sleeping. Sex passes the time. Good sex passes a lot of time. That’s all it is, Raina. I’m not looking for more than that. I’m as curious as you are.”
“Have you ever been with a succubus?” She tried to sound offhand, though her heart rate was increasing like a schoolgirl’s. Not a usual occurrence for her…not ever.
“No, as a matter of fact.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Then how do you know I can’t hurt you?”
“The same way I know certain things are too hot to touch. I just know.”
But some things were worth the burn. Her slide down this slope was increasing to an out-of-control sledding on her ass.
“Earlier tonight, I could have moved you out of my way,” he said. “I didn’t.”
“You knew I’d fight you. You only hurt a woman if you have no other choice…or if it gives her pleasure.”
She really shouldn’t have said that, because her voice had thickened over the syllables. His gaze narrowed, watching her manicured nails bite into her palms.
She’d told him she knew what his tastes were, because that was her job. Her succubus nature could ferret out the deepest sexual fantasies and passions a man had. But with experience alone, she’d evaluated plenty of men in her parlor, figuring out from stammering voices or cocky bravado, the subtle shifts of body, the flicker in the eyes, what they sought, what they really wanted. Mikhael had no cocky bravado, no stammer, and he controlled his body language, revealing only what he wanted revealed.
But she’d picked up on it, a strong, recognizable scent, one that called to her uniquely. He was 100 percent sexual Dominant. The number-one reason she needed to shove him down those stairs right now.
What he sought was the complexity of a female who needed restraints, certain levels of pain and endorphin rushes to find pleasure or to heighten it. Even if a woman didn’t think she was into that, he could take her into new, thrilling territory, uncovering or nurturing that primal side of her.
In Raina, that side had to be left untouched. No matter what. It was a graveyard, and resurrecting the dead was never advisable.
While she was struggling with herself, his attention had shifted. As if he had all the time in the world, he was now studying her room. She saw him absorbing all the details, the innocuous and less so. Fresh wildflower arrangements, the wedding-ring quilt, the People magazine. The stack of DVDs by her flat screen, Titanic open on top. There was a picture of her, Ruby and Ramona next to the flowers. It was the only personal photograph.
His nostrils flared, taking in the special-blend incense she used for clarity and peaceful rest. The music coming from her player was a soulful Irish ballad, sung by a male with a rough, sexy voice. It always made her think of a warrior, offering a song by the campfire on the eve of battle, when thoughts turned not to the bloodshed ahead, but the woman who might be left behind as the result of it.
He was visibly digesting all of that, but his gaze had moved to the far wall, to one particular picture. She suppressed the immature desire to shift in front of it. Damn it, he shouldn’t be here. Send him away before it’s too late, you idiot.
“You have some exquisite artwork downstairs, but up here, the tone is different. Darker, more personal.”
“Hence my private room.” Fixing him with a cool gaze, she sat back down on the bed, crossed her legs. They’d left his offer hanging out there, but it wasn’t buying her time to marshal defenses. With every moment he was here, in her personal space, she was digging herself a hole, not a protective trench.
He threaded his hands through the balusters, resting his forearms on the floorboards as he shifted his weight to one hip and considered her world through that barricade. She noticed he had chest hair, a dark, silky mat that covered the muscle, that tight arrow down the center ridge of his abdomen. The floor interfered with the rest of the view. Unless she rose on her toes, or came closer.
He might be gathering information about her, but she was doing something similar. Damn succubus blood, which heightened her senses. He had the smell of fire, the good aroma of burning wood and sweet grasses. Her candlelight gave his dark hair a sheen that tempted the stroke of her fingertips through the feathers of it. He had such a strong face, so implacable and ruthless. He’d capture her wrist before he’d let her touch him, she was sure. Would hold it there between them, wait long enough that she knew he held all the reins. That was his power, and what he could give a woman. Turn all control over to him, let him dominate, and he would orchestrate her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. Though Raina’s dreams went further and deeper than most, she had no doubt he could exceed them.
The pulse in her throat now had a matching needy beat between her legs. Even with the breeze coming in from outside, she was getting warmer. Cathair made a warbling noise, then subsided. Recognizing the raven as her familiar, Mikhael gave him a neutral nod; then his gaze shifted back to the solitary charcoal portrait that had caught his attention.
It was a headshot of a woman, drawn from the back. She was visible to her bare shoulder blades. Her long hair was pulled up, her slim hand holding it there. She wore a silver collar, locked. Her other hand rested on it, as if she was wondering at the way wearing it made her feel.
“This has significance to you.”
In so many ways. She’d never thought she’d have a picture like that, but she’d found it when she was adding to the bordello gallery. It had caught her, haunted her. She put it off awhile, but when she received notification another bidder had put in an offer, she doubled it and bought it out from under him before the auction closed.
“It conveys the beauty and elegance of willing submission,” Mikhael mused. “Not someone brutalized into servitude. I expect you have clients who come here for both, to a certain point.”
“Yes. It’s a common craving, for those willing to acknowledge it.”
“For some it’s a game. For others, it’s like the need for food or air.” His gaze shifted from everything in the room to the hub of it all. Her. “It’s a road you’ve closed to yourself.”
“When the craving is twisted, exploited, forced, it’s different.” Then it became something ugly. Staring at him, she understood what he meant about his ability to read the minds of others. It wasn’t telepathy, not entirely. Like her, he was in the business of exceptional intuition. But it wasn’t an invitation to crawl into her soul. Or her bed.
“You can embrace everything you want to be, Raina. You don’t have to trust me as a male, or a Dark Guardian. But you can trust me with that part of you, as a lover.”
He said it with a serious sincerity she wanted to doubt but couldn’t, because she could read the truth of it from him. He meant it, no sarcasm, no hidden agenda. No strings, right? Sex didn’t matter; sex was just sex, even when it turned your soul inside out. That was what made it one of the most devastating of all magics, capable of crippling.