But Jude… He was all heat and steel and rock-solid, bone-melting beauty. His presence felt like unquenchable fire and impenetrable armor all at once—smothering and burning me with an insatiable need to bask in the nearness of him. Amid his fiery aura, I felt protected, rocking gently within his ship of flame, sure to be taken to safe harbor. I stopped walking, inhaled deeply and blew it out in a shaky breath, willing myself to be calm before I stepped into the bedroom.

The lights were off. A dark form stood tall and still, his profile silhouetted by the faint light filtering through sheer curtains. A long, sharp line angled against the wall—his broadsword. He didn’t face me as I entered. When he spoke, his voice was steady, level, distant.

“Do you trust me, Genevieve?”

A simple question. Of course, I did. Everything I knew about Jude incited trust. Though the man himself was still a mystery, he’d done nothing to make me doubt his intentions. Having saved my life now several times and having never harmed me in any way, how could I not trust him? Yet, there was a heaviness in his voice, as if this short inquiry held the weight of something far greater than I could imagine.

My reply came out low but strong. “Yes.”

He continued to gaze toward the curtained window, his frame stiff and unyielding. I stepped farther into the room, standing at the edge of my bed.

“Do you believe I am thinking only of your safety when I tell you to do something?”

Uh-oh. I knew where this was going.

“Jude, listen, I know that—”

“Answer the question.” His sharp tone halted the pitiful excuses about to spill from my mouth.

He turned to me then. Though I couldn’t see anything but the black outline of his body, I felt the weight of his eyes. Could he see me in the dark? I wondered what other gifts a Dominus Daemonum might have in his arsenal.

“Yes.”

He walked toward me, stopping outside that personal zone he so often liked to fill up with all his manliness.

“Then tell me”—his voice monotone, but sharp as a razor—“why do you value your life so little to leave this apartment for what, a romp about town with your boyfriend? You don’t seem to comprehend your new reality very well.”

His voice was calm, but edged with danger.

“I just thought, well, Kat said today… I mean—”

He went on, heedless of my stammering response. “Do you think I care if you go out with the boy?”

“Um, no. Well, yes. Maybe.”

“You’re free to do as you please, within reason. If you prefer to spend your time bar-hopping, that’s entirely your decision. But understand this, every time you step foot out the door, you’re risking your life, your very soul. Is it really worth it to sip beer and hold hands with the boy?”

My mouth went bone dry. He was so pissed.

“Why do you keep calling him a boy? He’s twenty-one years old. He’s a grown man.”

A derisive noise, almost a snort, came from the shadow before me. I felt the touch of shimmering flame he wore like a coat wherever he went.

“Mmm.” He inched into my space. I inched back, feeling like cornered prey. “And tell me, how do you know he’s a grown man?”

Words dripping with sarcasm. Malcolm was a good friend, possibly more than a good friend. Angry heat flushed my cheeks. “He’s, I mean…he just is!”

“‘He just is.’ Excellent definition. I’ll have to remember that.”

He mocked me. I was glad to have the darkness to hide the smug smile he surely wore and the humiliating flush crawling up my cheeks.

“Well, he’s a gentleman, that’s for damn sure!”

He inched closer. Though my eyes had adjusted, I could only see his outline in the dim light.

“Really? Gentlemen molest women on their doorsteps without invitation nowadays? Interesting. I hadn’t realized the definition had changed so much over the decades.”

“What! You saw! You watched me when he, I mean, when I… Damn you! That’s why I went out on my own tonight. I don’t want a babysitter all the time!”

Closer still. The backs of my knees bumped the edge of the bed.

“Babysitter? Honey, I’m not sure what mirror you’re looking in, but you are by no means a baby any more than that boy is a grown man.”

Honey? He’d never called me an endearment, and though I caught the condescending tone, the possessiveness in his voice struck me near dumb.

“Well, what’s your definition of a grown man, since you know so much?”

Already breathless, I hoped he couldn’t sense my nerves fracturing on multiple levels. The overwhelming sensation of his nearness in the dark was heady, intoxicating. I felt dizzy, wanting to grasp his shoulders for support, but I dared not touch him.

“A man,” he said, deep voice like velvet, warm breath caressing my cheek, “knows when to take action and when to be still, knows his strengths and his weaknesses, knows control when it is necessary and release when it is essential. And a man”—his voice had dropped deep, throaty, close to my ear—“knows when a woman wants him and how to please her.”

Two words popped into my head, and before I could possibly consider the consequences, the challenge shot from my mouth.

“Prove it.”

Jude crushed me onto the bed before I could blink, his glorious, hard body caging me in. A large hand hooked behind my knee, bending it as he fitted his pelvis to mine, his arousal pushing into the vee of my jeans. God! I gasped. Fingers spread into my hair, gently tugging so the column of my throat arched for him. I made a breathy sound as he scraped his stubbled jaw along the soft curve of my neck, trailing warm lips back over the rough abrasion. He tilted my head straight again, rocking against me in one slow movement.

“Ah.” A helpless pant escaped my lips.

If I could see his face, he would certainly be smiling. I was boneless beneath him. I bit my lip to keep any other embarrassing noises from escaping, as if that might help. His hand at my knee slid up along my thigh to my hip, massaging gently. Even through my jeans, his touch seared me to the skin.

“Let go, Genevieve.” I still held my bottom lip tightly between my teeth. “Open for me.”

God, the man’s voice rumbled so low, a rough whisper caressing me in a tangible way, forcing me to obey. I did as I was told. Those lips I’d caught myself staring at entirely too often showed me the difference between the boy on the doorstep and the man on top of me.

Slowly, slowly, his lips urged mine apart with gentle yet determined movements until I tasted the invading heat of his mouth. His tongue came in—exploring, demanding, claiming me as his own. I’d felt desire before, but not like this. An aching need wrenched at my core, tightening low and deep. His aura of fire singed me from the inside out, waking every sense, wrapping me in palpable longing. A burning tendril reached out, weaving around me, into me, pulling me toward him like the tide to the moon. How did I ever mistake Danté for Jude? I knew in that moment no man would ever come close to him, no matter how long I lived.

I threaded one hand into the hair at his nape, shocked at the silkiness. My other hand moved along his neck to the crook of his jaw, feeling the muscles work as he continued his deep invasion. I couldn’t keep the little whimpering noises from escaping my lips. He responded at once, pressing his erection harder, grinding against me, kissing more deeply, nipping at my lips with his teeth, then devouring me again with heavy intent. My back arched, a primitive response, pressing my breasts against his chest. The friction wound a knot in my abdomen. He moaned. Christ. The sound made me want to give him everything, give him all of me. My other leg bent of its own will, inviting and cradling him between my thighs.

The moment he settled perfectly between my legs, he froze, paused and pulled away. Almost too abruptly, as if he’d realized or forgotten something. Though his voice came out calm and steady, the rapid tattoo of his heart vibrated through his chest to mine. He lifted his body an inch, no longer touching but hovering in torturous intimacy. I almost cried out in anguish.

“Proven?”

What? Proven? What was he talking about? My mind had nearly melted away the conversation before this more than heated interlude. I could hardly form a coherent thought, much less speak, still panting and wanting more.

A throaty laugh. His chest rumbled, inadvertently, or maybe on purpose, rubbing the tips of my breasts. I definitely whimpered at that. He bent his head, keeping our bodies apart, sweeping his lips lightly along mine, giving me a brief, wet kiss, tugging at my lower lip before letting go. He released a jagged breath.

“Don’t settle, Genevieve. Don’t let strangers grope you on dance floors. Don’t allow college boys to fondle you in doorways. Don’t waver in uncertainty about your own desires. Even ageless, life is too short to live halfhearted. Know what you want. Endeavor to seize it, and keep it when you do.”

The mattress shifted as his weight lifted off the bed. A swift whooshing sound, and he was gone. His heat lingered on my swollen lips, my chest and lower. I curled onto my side, feeling bereft and so very alone. I’d forgotten all about Garzel and the Collector and Malcolm. None of it mattered as Jude’s advice swirled in my mind, specifically the last words he spoke to me.

“I thought I just did,” I whispered into the dark.

There was no answer.

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