Gabriel had no idea how long the knocking had been going on. He was drowning in the scent of her, luxuriating in the feel of her under his hands. She arched and sighed as he explored her neck with his teeth and tongue, as he slipped free the buttons on her dress and trailed his fingers over the skin as it became exposed. She was smooth and soft and smelled delicious.

When was the last time he’d wanted anyone like this? He wasn’t sure he ever had. He’d dreamt of her, the night before, and woke thinking that if she didn’t come back to the club, he would have to figure out how to find her. He needed to touch her again.

And here she was.

He could barely hear the knocking over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears—but once it finally penetrated his consciousness, he lifted his head and turned to look at the door. If he’d had the power to blow it off its hinges, along with whomever was behind it, he would have.

Beneath him, Lily began to struggle to sit up, straightening her clothes. Her dress had an even dozen buttons to fasten up the front and he’d managed to get half of them open. Sighing, he resigned himself to pursuing this particular activity at a later date and started to refasten them—but not quickly enough.

The knocking stopped and the door swung open, revealing Scott and Vivienne on the other side, standing side-by-side in the doorway.

Scott’s expression might have been funny, but Gabriel could still taste Lily’s skin and was in no mood for hilarity.

“Generally, when a door is locked,” he snarled at them, “one waits to be let in.”

Lily stepped down off the console, her eyes trained on the floor in front of her, and set her last button right with trembling hands. “Um,” she said, then said no more.

Gabriel imagined she didn’t quite know what to say and he felt bad for her—but he felt worse for himself. The relief of finally being able to fill his hands with her had been profound; the rapid change in circumstance was infuriating.

“I think we need to go, Lily,” Scott said, and something in his tone set Gabriel’s teeth on edge. He didn’t sound … right. He didn’t sound like the guy Gabriel had been chatting with over floor plans. He sounded like a man talking in his sleep.

Gabriel shifted his gaze to Vivienne, who was sporting a half-smirk that would have told him everything already, if he’d been paying attention, and caught a glimpse of Pusboil, standing about three feet behind her. So that explained how Vivienne had known what was going on.

Well, he and Vivienne would be amending the imp’s contract effective immediately, to ensure any observation of Lily ceased when she was alone with Gabriel. He caught Pusboil’s eye, jerked his head in a gesture that said the imp should get out of there right now, and moved to stand between Lily and the doorway.

“Okay, folks,” he said. “Show’s over. Scott, Lily will be with you in a second. Vivienne, I’ll want to see you in my office in ten minutes.”

And he shut the door in their faces.

Turning to Lily, he took one of her hands in his and used a finger under her chin to tilt her head up.

“Don’t you let me see you staring at the ground like you’ve done something wrong—” he began.

“This was totally wrong.” She looked up, tears swimming into her eyes. “Totally wrong on a personal level, and totally unprofessional. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”

“Lily—” he began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t say anything else.” She stepped away from him, pulling her hand free. “And don’t touch me.”

She darted around him, pulled open the door, and was gone.

With her gone, the room felt more than empty; it felt funereal. He had an imp to renegotiate with and his mother to yell at, so he had very little time to stop and think about what it meant that he didn’t want to be in a room if Lily wasn’t in it.

But one thing he definitely would think about: she’d responded to him without any extra-human effort on his part. He hadn’t pulled her, not even unintentionally; there had been no drain of energy, no exertion of effort. The night before, he’d made her dance with him—and yes, he’d sworn he was done with that and he wasn’t thrilled with himself for breaking his promise. But today, for whatever reason, he’d not had to coerce her at all. She’d come into his arms a willing participant.

He thought that knowing she could choose to leave, but hadn’t, had been the sweetest thing of all.

In his office, Vivienne once again occupied his chair. Pusboil reclined on the desktop, stroking its own armpit hair.

“Gabriel—”

“Shut it.” He resisted the urge to dump her ass on the floor, and took the visitor’s chair again. Now wasn’t the time to be distracted. He was furious. “What were you after, barging in on me—on us—like that?”

“Pusboil came and told me what you were up to with that little chippie—”

“Chippie? Honestly, Vivienne, what decade are you from?”

She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at him. “All of them.”

He let that go, and gestured at Pusboil. “Get your compact, if you need it. We’re changing his contract.”

“I hardly think—”

“It’s not up for debate. I put up with a lot from you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll have you spying on me when I’m—”

“I wasn’t spying,” she spat. “I hadn’t even considered something like this when I set up the contract.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any issue changing it.”

She pursed her lips, slanted her eyes toward Pusboil. “Fine. It’s not like it wants to watch you rutting.”

Pusboil nodded so vehemently that its ears bobbed.

“I don’t rut,” Gabriel muttered. He knew better than to disagree with her when she was like this, but the insult cut deep.

“Oh, fine, Then. Sorry. When you’re making sweet love to some total stranger on the console in the light booth. Really smooth. I’m proud to call you a son.”

Vivienne went through her blood-on-the-mirror ritual again, and Pusboil came to sit on the edge of the desk, swinging its feet.

It was a matter of moments to reword the contract to exclude what Vivienne termed “times of intimacy.” Pusboil snorted at that, but agreed and disappeared—literally—when Vivienne dismissed it.

“It watched her last night.” Vivienne leaned back and steepled her fingers together. “She was restless, it said, and kept turning on the light as though she knew it was there.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Sensitive, maybe. It happens.”

“It doesn’t explain her resistance to you, though. I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it,” he said. “And you should know, Vivienne, that I’ll be contacting her again. I like her. I don’t plan to let you drive her away.”

“She definitely took off out of here like a bat out of— well. You know.” Vivienne smiled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so confident that you’ll be successful with … whatever it is you want from her.”

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Gabriel thought about it in the limo on the way home, and had to admit to himself what he would never have admitted to Vivienne: he didn’t even know what it was he wanted from Lily.

But he was quickly becoming convinced that it wasn’t so much a matter of want as of need. And he hadn’t needed anyone, or anything, in a long time.