Gabriel took both his hands off her, very deliberately, and stepped all the way to the other side of the sitting area. “Of what, exactly, are you accusing me?” he said, his voice very cold.

“No,” she said. “I don’t mean—”

“You are making a comparison I would ask you to evaluate very carefully,” he said, and it was evident from the cadence of his speech that he was choosing his words very precisely. “We were both there in that parking garage an hour ago. Are you seriously trying to draw a parallel between that situation and this?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then what?”

“I just mean….” What did she mean? “I just mean— I want to know I can choose. I don’t want you using your mojo on me.”

He sighed again, shook his head. “My mojo, as you call it, doesn’t have an off switch.”

“Have you tried?”

“I’ve had no reason to try,” he said, sounding pretty pissed off. “You’re the first to complain, that’s for sure.”

“And that’s another thing,” she said. “I don’t like the idea that if I did get involved with you, every woman in the five boroughs is going to be tossing herself at you.”

“I don’t want any other woman in the five boroughs,” he said, “or anywhere else, for that matter. I’m tired of women tossing themselves at me. It’s boring.”

“You said that,” she said. “The first night in Abaddon, you said that to the bartender.”

He leaned his hip against the nearest wingback chair, looked down at his hands for moment. “The thing you have to understand, Lily, is women have always thrown themselves at me, for as long as I’ve been aware of women. I thought it was because of something I did—because I was smart, or because I lettered in track—”

“Didn’t they notice you could run faster than everyone else in the world, or were stronger, or whatever?”

He shook his head. “For whatever reason, those things didn’t manifest until Vivienne showed up and told me what I am. But the appeal to women was always there. At the time, I thought it was something I’d done. Or hell, maybe just because I was good-looking.”

“Being good-looking isn’t something you do,” she said. “Even in … mere mortals, that’s genetics.”

“Maybe, but I could have eaten a lot more pizza and done a lot less exercise. And I went to school with plenty of guys who washed their hair once a week whether—”

“—they needed it or not,” she finished, and smiled shyly. “My dad used to say that. Okay, so you were a hottie and you loved it when the chicks were all nuts about you. This isn’t exactly reassuring.”

He shook his head. “My point is, I thought I’d earned the attention, that I was something special. And then Vivienne turned up, a year and a half ago now, and she told me what I really am. And I realized I hadn’t earned a damn thing. None of those women liked me because of me or because of anything I’d done. It was a cheat and a lie, and I didn’t want any part of it.”

He looked so utterly miserable she would have gone to him then, if he’d held out a hand. But he didn’t, and she hesitated until the moment was lost.

“And then I saw you, at the club,” he said, “and I didn’t want to look at anything else. And when we danced … the feel of you, the smell of you. I wanted you, and you didn’t want me back. You can’t know—you can’t even imagine—what that felt like. You can’t imagine what it is to know you can say no to me … and what it will mean to me if you don’t.”

“Gabriel—”

“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand it because I’ve never felt it before. But I want to be with you. I haven’t wanted anyone for a long time, and maybe that’s what you feel. Maybe that’s why you can’t help yourself with me: because I can’t help myself with you.”

“Couldn’t you just … tone it down a little?” She was trying to be gentle, because that look in his eyes when he’d let go of her hadn’t been just anger. “The mojo?”

“There’s no dimmer switch either, Lily.” He spread his arms. “You’re welcome to look for one.”

A delicious thought, to be sure, but she shook her head. “I don’t know how to know what I really want.”

“Then I suppose we’re at an impasse,” he said, and looked away. “I am what I am, and I can’t be otherwise. I’m not going to stand here and beg you, or tell you I can be something I’m not.”

“I’m not asking—”

“But you are. And I can’t.” He shook his head. “You know what I want. I haven’t held back with you on that, and I’ve had to swallow my pride more than a little to say the things I’ve said to you. Now you need to decide what you want.”

And he turned and crossed the suite to the master bedroom, shutting the door very quietly behind him. A moment later, she heard glass shattering on the other side. She winced and sat heavily on the sofa.

Now you’ve done it.

He might not be human, but she’d been getting a sense of him these last few days. She’d recognized the look on his face—how often had she seen it on someone’s face when she said some stupid, thoughtless thing? Which was precisely what she’d just done. He’d saved her life, and she’d repaid him for it by basically calling him a rapist.

On the other hand, as soon as he’d backed away from her, her thoughts had gotten less fuzzy. Whether he meant to or not—and she guessed she’d assume he was telling the truth about it, because obviously he didn’t need to lie to get what he wanted out of her—he sapped her will to resist him, just by touching her.

On the other hand … he wasn’t touching her now, and she still wanted to follow him into that room, take what she knew he could give her. He could have anyone; that much was clear. And he wanted her. Was she going to deny him—and herself—to prove a point? Was she resisting him just because she could?

On the other hand….

No. She was out of hands.

She shook her head, mad at herself. Something amazing was happening to her. Someone amazing had come into her life and wanted her, and she wanted him just as much. And, sure, the otherworldly part of it was mind-blowing and too much to comprehend, really—but the single most basic fact of the thing was the man in the next room wanted to be hers, wanted her to be his. Made her feel alive. Had saved her life.

He wasn’t human.

But he was human enough to want someone to like him for himself.

He was human enough to have hurt feelings when she insulted him.

He was human enough to wrap a two-thousand-dollar coat around a woman some people would have said wasn’t worth the cost of dry cleaning it.

Gabriel was right. It came down to the simplest of questions: What did she want?

She stood, crossed the suite, knocked on his door.

It opened. He stood in the doorway, looking at her with the oddest, softest expression on his face.

“Did it ever occur to you,” she asked, “that if the superhuman strength and whatnot didn’t show up until your mother did, maybe all those girls in high school really did like you for you?”

He just looked at her for a moment.

“Maybe it wasn’t a cheat and a lie,” she said. “Maybe it was because you were nice, or handsome, or whatever.”

He shrugged a little, but she thought a little of the hurt left his eyes.

“Maybe,” he said. “I suppose it doesn’t matter in the long run. I am what I am now, and I don’t want any part of coercing women into wanting me.” His gaze held hers. “You have to choose. I can’t—won’t—choose for you.”

She nodded. “If we start sleeping together,” she said, slowly, “it’s going to be really, really amazing, isn’t it?”

He smiled, slowly, and it felt like all the blood drained from her brain and relocated a couple of feet south. “Yes,” he said, and held out his hand.

She took it.