“Oh … my God … how exquisite is this?”

As Axe shut the back door of the cottage, he gritted his teeth. He should have brought Elise in through the front door so she didn’t see the kitchen in the moonlight.

Too late. And clearly she wasn’t going to be satisfied with a quick walk-through.

Nope. Instead of following his lead directly to the archway, she went across to the carved patterns of leaves around the windows and trailed her fingertips over the wood that his father had spent hours and hours whittling and smoothing and finishing.

“Who did this?” she breathed. “This is incredible.… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

In the silvery blue illumination, her hair shimmered like an aura as if she were an angel fallen to earth.

Too bad all the things he wanted to do to her body were right out of a demon’s playbook.

And shit, he could sense his blood in her—and he fucking loved it.

As she linked her arms and shivered, he said gruffly, “The furnace is broken. I’m getting it fixed next week. Come this way to the fireplace.”

She still didn’t follow him. “Seriously, who did all this woodworking?”

She went over to the wooden table with its pine-backed chairs that had ivy leaves for slats.

“My father.”

“Really? Your sire did this? Oh, my God, he was an artist.”

“Come this way.”

She pivoted and went to the cabinetry. “How long did it take him?”

“You’re cold. I’m going to go build a fire for us.”

Walking out of the kitchen, he yanked his leather jacket off and tossed it on a random chair. And yeah, the dilapidated state of everything weighed on him—that and the fact that there was no heat, no lighting, no food in the place. Where he lived wasn’t just a far cry from the palace she crashed in—this hovel wasn’t even on the level of an ordinary house for your average commoner.

Crouching down by the fireplace, he grabbed the poker that he’d propped up on the brick and shoved the ashes out of the way. Then he crushed up some newspaper, put some sticks that he’d collected from the yard the night before over it, and laid a single hardwood log on top.

He’d sold one of his father’s carved figurines on eBay for four hundred bucks back in the fall, and he’d used the money to buy a cord of mixed hardwood that was enough to get him well into the winter. And yeah, maybe he could have pawned a couple more of the woodland animals and birds in the cellar to get the lights on, but he couldn’t bring himself to part with any of them.

Even though he despised each and every one.

The box of matches was kept in a metal container, and he popped the lid, snagged a stick, and flicked the head into flame with his thumbnail.

The newspaper curled away from the heat before allowing itself to be consumed, and then snapping and cracking escorted waves of chalky smoke up the flue.

He knew the instant she appeared in the room.

“This is—”

“A dump. I know.”

“No, I was going to say it’s homey.” As he barked out a laugh, she walked around, touching the stuffed chair and the padded sofa, the faded material on both making him cringe. “Maybe it could use a brooming, but this is a perfect little nest of a house. It’s kind of a surprise.”

He turned back to the fire, nursing it, encouraging it.

Just like he was going to do to her sex in a matter of minutes.

“I hate the place.”

Axe got to his feet, his knees cracking, the erection raging in his pants getting squeezed. He didn’t rearrange the thing. He wanted her to be the one to do that.

Oh, yeah … the firelight on her was even better than the moonlight had been.

She frowned as she looked at the pallet in front of the flames.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t think you were coming here. This is where I have to sleep to keep warm.”

Her face relaxed. “You better get that furnace fixed so you can go back to your bed.”

“Yeah.” Axe pointed to the floor right at his feet. “Come here.”

She moved across the shallow, glowing space like a dream, the flickering orange light making her beauty mysterious and inaccessible even as she got so close he could count her eyelashes.

Reaching out, he brushed her hair back, tilted her head … and covered her mouth with his. Licking into her, he swept a palm down her shoulder and onto the small of her back—before bringing her into him with a hard jerk.

Greedy, he was so goddamn greedy … and he’d intended to start slow.

But that went out the fucking window quick.

Next thing he knew, he was shedding her coat for her, yanking her blouse out of the skirt, getting to the warm skin at her waist. Images of her with that human male made him rough, but she didn’t seem to care.

She was just as hard on him, dragging her hands through his hair, straining against his body, scoring his nape.

“Lie down,” he groaned. “You lie down, female.…”

Lifting her into his arms, he knelt and put her on what little softness he had to offer.

Too damn bad it was bedding and nothing else.

With an undulation of her body that nearly made him come, she brought her arms over her head and arched as he straddled her thighs. One by one, he freed the fancy buttons of her blouse.

It seemed like a crime to rip everything apart.

“What are these made of?” he said in a voice so low it was nearly inaudible.

“Mother-of-pearl,” she gasped.

They had nothing on her luminous skin.

As he slowly parted the two halves of silk, everything came to a crashing halt, all that hurry, hurry pulling up short as he hissed at the sight of her and clamped his teeth together. Her breasts were hidden behind lacy white cups, and the innocence and sexuality that combined together so perfectly was hotter than all the anonymous, extreme fucking he’d been doing for years.

“May I?” he heard himself ask.

Which was weird. But he felt close to a religious experience here as he loomed over her: it seemed unforgivable to enter any part of the temple without her express permission.

“Allow me,” she said.

With hands that only shook a little, she arched up again and reached behind her back … and then the cups went loose, her hardened nipples tenting them.

“Oh … fuck.” Was that him talking? He didn’t know. He was out of his goddamn mind. “Elise …”

You want to talk about torture. Watching her remove one strap and then the other while keeping the bra in place made the heartbeat in his cock go triple time.

And then she cast the barrier aside.

She was perfect. Just … perfect.

Dipping his head, he led with his tongue and licked at her nipples before sucking her in, one after another. It felt so fucking right to be crouched over her like this, worshiping her with his mouth, his body on the knife-edge of losing control, his blood pounding in his veins.

He felt so alive, but not in that manic way he usually did when he was in the middle of fucking.

As he nuzzled at her breasts, he had to rearrange his erection in his pants—it was either that or start singing the high notes. And then he went for the fastening at the back of her skirt, and she helped him by rolling her hips to the side. Yes, he wanted to tear the thing off her pelvis, preferably with his teeth, but again, he wasn’t going to … and not just because she needed something to go home in.

Patience had its rewards.

As he suckled on her and made her moan, he took off her skirt, hose, and panties at the same time, sweeping them down her long, long legs.

Then he sat back.

Under his hot gaze, she brought her arms up over her head once more and moved for him, stretching, twisting, the firelight bathing her skin with illumination that was like a hundred of his hands over her flesh. And oh, how the reality of her flesh was better than his dream: Her breasts with their straining nipples, and the flat plane of her stomach, and her bare sex, and her creamy thighs, were all blowing the doors off the hypothetical version his subconscious had coughed up the other day.

Moving his hands down her from collarbone to hip, he caressed her body … and then followed the path with his mouth—stopping at her belly button.

Looking up her body, past her spectacular breasts, he found her lips parted as she panted and stared down at him, her eyes wide and wondrous as if she had never felt like this before.

Peyton’s voice came into his head: Because you’re going to fuck her and leave her ruined.

Axe shoved the words and the tone out of his head, intending to go down on her until she knew exactly how beautiful he thought she was. And then he would …

No. Actually, he wasn’t. He wasn’t going to complete this act. He wasn’t going to end with him inside of her.

He was just going to pleasure her with his mouth and his tongue and then he was going to …

Fuck.

Fuck.

Axe sat back, even though pulling away from her was like peeling off layers of his own skin with his fangs.

“What is it?” she whispered. And then she smiled. “Do I get to see you now?”

When he didn’t answer her, she frowned and sat up.

God, the way her breasts hung, so full and ready for him—it nearly distracted him enough that he could keep going.

Nearly.

“Axwelle?”

He rubbed his face. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Can you, ah … can you not call me Axwelle ever again.”

“All right.”

“Only my mother ever called me Axwelle. And I hate that name.”

“Well, I can understand why you wouldn’t want to be thinking about your mahmen during a time like this.”

The lift to her lips faded as he didn’t say anything more. And then she pulled her blouse over her breasts.

“I think I know what you’re worried about,” she said abruptly.

“Do you.”

Her eyes met his and held steady. “Don’t worry. I’m not a virgin.”