Ami’s courage faltered as heat bloomed in her cheeks.

Why had she just said that? Marcus looked ... flabbergasted.

What if she had misunderstood him? What if he hadn’t been trying to tell her he was ready to move past his grief and begin anew. With her. Why would he want to start a relationship with her? She was a mess, fighting to overcome new fears instilled by old demons. Monsters who visited her in nightmares if given the slightest invitation.

She wasn’t the woman she used to be. The woman she wanted to be. Strove to be. And feared she never would be again.

And she wasn’t the kind of woman Marcus preferred: bold and full of fire like Bethany.

Ami had barely managed to admit she liked the brush of his lips, his body pressed to hers. She was innocent. Completely. She could never be like the women she saw on TV who thought sex a fun pastime to share with men they had just met or, if you believed those horrid Valentine’s Day commercials, that sex was merely a means of procuring shiny baubles.

Marcus had given Ami her first kiss, something she would always treasure. Marcus had been the first man to hold her in a nonbrotherly fashion. To make her heart race madly. As it did now.

“What did you say?” he asked, interrupting her harried thoughts as he stopped a breath away.

She swallowed hard. He stood so close Ami could feel the heat from his body. “I like kissing you.”

His eyes flared amber.

“And touching you.”

The amber grew brighter still, glowing like the moon. “I like kissing you, too,” he murmured with a look in those iridescent eyes that made everything within her go liquid. “I like kissing you and touching you so much that I want to do it again and again until I’ve memorized every inch of you.”

And she wished he would, though it went against everything she had been taught. “I’m not who you think I am,” she confessed with a touch of desperation.

He leaned in closer, his breath warming her cheek. “I think you’re my Second. The best I’ve ever had. I think you’re my friend. I think you’re intelligent and funny and so beautiful you rob me of rational thought.”

Her pulse raced as he rubbed his nose against hers.

“I think you’re the strongest, most courageous and intriguing woman I have ever known. Is that not who you are?”

She didn’t know whether to bury her fingers in his hair and drag his lips forward the inch that separated them or to burst into tears. “I’m a coward,” she whispered.

Fury blazed in his eyes. “Who told you that?” he demanded roughly.

“No one. I just ... am. I’m not those things you said, Marcus, no matter how much I want to be. I’m not strong like you. I was once, but then ...” She shook her head, unable to overcome her reluctance to tell him. “I’m not fearless.”

His lips quirked up at their corners as he cupped her face in one large hand. “What makes you think I’m fearless?”

“Don’t mock me,” she pleaded. “You know you are. Everyone knows you are.”

He shook his head. “When I saw you tonight with that knife sticking out of your back, I was terrified.”

Her pulse leapt. “You were?”

“It’s why I didn’t insist on staying to fight the new wave of vampires Roy claimed were on the way. In complete darkness, with all of the trees limiting our mobility, the odds were against us making it through another round without suffering more severe injuries.”

“You mean the odds were against my making it through another round,” she corrected him despondently.

Marcus never ran from a fight. No matter how unlikely it appeared that he would survive. He always met such challenges with a smile. It was one of the reasons so many thought him unstable.

“Yes,” he said simply, no condemnation in his tone. “I didn’t fear for myself, Ami. I’ve lived long enough and am powerful enough that I can take a lot of damage and live to talk about it. But you’re built differently than I am, are more vulnerable. And the idea of your falling beneath the sword of or being drained by some vampire leaves me petrified.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Does that make me a coward?”

She shook her head.

“Courage isn’t the absence of fear, Ami. Courage is acting despite the presence of it. I can’t count the number of times you’ve done that since we met.”

“Including just now.” She looked up at him through her lashes and offered him a shy smile. “I was nervous about telling you I like to kiss you, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I’ve been wanting to do it again ever since we left Roland and Sarah’s.”

He groaned. Settling his hands on her hips, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I have, too.”

She placed her hands on his chest, felt the warm muscle beneath his T-shirt twitch at her touch.

“Ami ...”

“Yes?” His chest was so big and hard and strong.

“I know you said you don’t like to talk about your past... .”

Her fingers clenched, bunching up the cotton material.

“But there is something I need to know.”

He had guessed it. Her secret. Her weird behavior must have tipped him off despite her attempts to blend in. She had gone without sleep for six days straight and hadn’t gotten loopy or cranky or confused, then had passed out and slept like the dead for twenty-four hours. Who else did that?

And there were other things. Commonplace things she didn’t know or understand. She had hoped he wouldn’t notice, but he had. Now he was going to ask her to confirm it and would never look at her the same again.

Tension roiled within her as Marcus drew in a deep breath.

“What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Seth?”

Perplexed, Ami met his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“How do you feel about him?”

“I love him.” When his hands tightened almost painfully on her hips, she realized he had misunderstood. “Not like ... Seth is to me what Robert was to you.” She forced her fingers to uncurl, to lay flat against his chest. “I lost my family.” That much she could tell him without revealing too much, though it hurt. Her throat thickened, and tears pricked her lashes. How long would it take her to come to grips with the knowledge that she would never again hear her brothers’ laughter? Or her mother’s? Or father’s? “Then Seth, David, and Darnell became my new family. I love them all like brothers.”

“I’m sorry.” Marcus slipped his arms around her and hugged her close. “I didn’t mean to resurrect painful memories. Roland thought you and Seth were lovers.”

“What?” she asked with surprise.

He drew back, smiling ruefully as he combed his fingers through her hair. “Not knowing if he was right is all that kept me from dragging you into the shower with me when we got home.”

Heat once more crept up her neck to fill her cheeks.

“And now,” he said, smiling as he drew one finger down the flushed skin, “I must confess another fear.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs as she tried and failed to speak.

His glowing eyes flickered with emotion as he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, first gently, then with growing hunger. His arms tightened, pressed her against him as she rose onto her toes and slid her arms around his neck.

He drew back a fraction of an inch. “I fear taking this—what is growing between us—to the next level.”

She stared up at him in puzzlement. “Why would you fear that? You’re the one who’s done it before.” As soon as the words left her lips, she cursed herself for not thinking before she spoke.

He smiled. “Don’t look so horrified. I already guessed you’re a virgin.”

Something else that labeled her different.

He rocked her in his arms. “Relax, Ami. You look like that’s a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it? You don’t think I’m ... weird? A virgin at my age?” Not that he knew her true age.

Marcus trailed his lips across her cheek and down her neck. “I’m eight hundred years old, Ami. In my youth—and for several centuries afterward—women were expected to remain chaste until marriage, whether they wed at fourteen or forty. The fact that you chose to do so seems completely natural to me. And, even if I were only the age I appear ... I’m a grown man, not a teenager. I’m not going to mock you for exercising restraint and discernment in your previous relationships.”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “I’ve never been in a relationship before.” Damn, it! You said it!

He stilled. “Never?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never met anyone who made me want one. Until now.”

Groaning, he claimed her lips in a feverish kiss.

Ami moaned as his tongue tangled with hers in ways she’d never imagined could be so ... stimulating.

Bending, he lifted her up against his chest.

A breeze cooled her face and ruffled her hair. When Ami opened her eyes, they were in his bedroom downstairs. Painted a deep burgundy, it was furnished with dark furniture and decorated with Impressionistic paintings and plants that required no natural light. No pictures of Bethany clung to his walls, Ami noticed with both surprise and relief as Marcus lowered her feet to the cork floor.

He cupped her face in his hands.

She loved his hands, so large compared to her own and always warm even though his body temperature ran a bit cooler than that of humans.

His iridescent gaze locked with hers. “Are you sure you want this?”

She curled her fingers around his wrists. “Yes.”

A brief kiss followed, light to the touch but heavy with emotion.

“Let me know if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable or if you want me to stop,” he murmured, covering her face with more light kisses.

Her knees shook. Her pulse quickened. Ami could only nod.

His mouth returned to hers, hungry, devouring.

Marcus tried to still the trembling in his fingers as he slowly drew the back of Ami’s shirt up. He couldn’t recall ever having wanted a woman so desperately ... or wanting so badly to make it good for her.

He felt Ami bunch the back of his shirt up and raise it.

Marcus slipped his hands beneath her T-shirt and caressed the silky warmth of her back, so delicate and narrow compared to his own. When Ami did the same, slipping her small hands beneath his shirt to explore bare skin, he smiled. More innocent than he had thought, she was taking her cues from him.

Marcus relinquished her lips—her soft, sweet, fantasy-inducing lips—and leaned back. “Raise your arms,” he whispered. She obeyed without question, allowing him to draw her shirt over her head and toss it aside. White lace covered full breasts that rose and fell with rapid breaths.

“Now you,” she said.

Marcus raised his arms and bent over so she could draw his shirt over his head. The look in her eyes as she tossed it aside and studied him ... hungry, yet timid ... nearly stole his self-control.

She reached out, rested her hands on his chest, tested the feel of him, brushed her thumbs across his nipples, and surprised him by giving them an experimental pinch, igniting a flash fire of sensation.

He hissed in a breath.

Her eyes darted to his. “Was that—?”

“I liked it,” he bit out.

Her lips, plump and rosy from his kisses, turned up in the smile of a temptress. “You did?”

“Yes.”

She did it again.

Marcus groaned, wanting her to slide those hands down and give the bulge in his pants a squeeze.

Her lashes lowered. “Will I like it?”

Impossible though it might seem, the shy inquiry affected him even more than her hands on his body. “Let’s find out, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, Marcus reached behind her and flicked open the catch on her bra.

She gasped and seized the front before it could fall. “Let me,” Marcus entreated hotly.

He could hear her heart slamming against her ribs as she lowered her arms and let the little scrap of material fall away. His own heart did the same as he took in the sight of her plump, pale breasts. “You’re so beautiful.”

Her breath caught as he cupped one in his hand, squeezed gently, and explored the soft flesh above and around her nipple with his thumb. She bit her lower lip, let her lashes drift shut. When he delivered the promised pinch, she jumped, eyes flying open.

“Like it?” he asked, body trembling with need. Say yes. Please, say yes.

“I like it,” she confessed breathlessly.

Marcus couldn’t suppress a growl as he bent down and feasted on her lips once more. “Then let’s see what else you like.” Wrapping his free arm around her, he bent her backward and lowered his head to draw his tongue across her other nipple in a slow, rough caress.

She moaned, the hoarse, involuntary sound making him wild. Her fingers came up to grip his hair and urge him closer. Marcus closed his lips around the hard, pink bud, sucking, laving, nipping with his teeth, careful not to pierce her with his fangs, all the while working her other breast with his hand, his touch growing less gentle, more demanding. When she drew one slender thigh up the outside of his and rubbed her core against his erection, all thoughts of slow and sweet fled, overwhelmed by urgency.

Abandoning her breasts, he picked her up and practically tossed her onto the bed behind her. “I need you naked,” he rumbled, his voice not sounding like his own. “Now.”

Ami’s body burned and tingled in so many places she could hardly think as she watched Marcus kneel on the mattress and straddle her legs.

He slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her sweatpants on either side. “Lift your hips.” His eyes, glowing brightly with desire, fastened on her breasts. As she watched, he licked his lips as if he could still taste her, still feel his tongue abrading her, his teeth nipping and biting and making her hungry for more.

Entranced, Ami lifted her hips.

Marcus drew the soft material down her legs over her feet and tossed it to the floor. His gaze dipped to the plain white bikini panties that lacked the lace of her bra. His chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. His hands curled around her ankles, slid up her shins, up her thighs.

Sensation shot through Ami as his thumbs brushed the heart of her, then followed his fingers to the elastic that edged the top of her panties.

“Again,” he said, and Ami wanted to say the same. She wanted him to touch her again where no other had, to feel that white hot lightning sear her and make her writhe.

Instead, she lifted her hips and allowed him to draw the narrow strip of cotton over her hips and down her legs.

His eyes never left her core as he tossed the panties over his shoulder.

A twinge of nerves struck, a tiny spark of vulnerability at being displayed bare before him thusly.

As though he sensed it, he dragged his gaze away and met hers. Easing forward, he stretched out beside her and propped his weight on one elbow. His dark hair framed his face as he leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. His large, warm hand reclaimed her breast. He slid one knee up, nudging hers apart and pressed his sweatpant-covered thigh against the heart of her.

Heady desire once more raced to the forefront. Ami wrapped her arms around him, slid her hands down the warm, flexing muscles of his back to the knit material on his hips. “You aren’t naked,” she protested. She wanted skin against skin. Couldn’t wait to feel all of him against her, unfettered.

Marcus said nothing, merely lowered his lips to her other breast.

Moaning, she persisted. “You aren’t naked.”

Marcus raised his head, gazing down at her with those eyes, those luminous eyes. “Ami, honey,” he murmured hoarsely, “I’m clinging by a thread here. I want your first time to—”

“I need you naked,” she interrupted, using his own words, and slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats. “Now.”

In an instant, he stood at the foot of the bed. His eyes devoured her as he drew his pants down his legs and stepped out of them, then yanked off his socks.

It was the first time Ami had ever seen a naked man. A naked, very aroused man. A large, naked, very aroused man. She leaned up on her elbows to better drink in all of that tanned flesh stretched over sinew and muscle. The taut perfection of his body was marred in several places by wounds that had closed, but were still healing, distracting her from the heavy erection that strained toward her.

“Do they hurt?” she asked.

“What?” he asked absently. His eyes, she noted, once more focused on the red curls at the juncture of her thighs.

“Your wounds. Do they hurt?”

Slowly he wagged his head from side to side. “Not as much as the part of me that aches to be inside you.” His gaze suddenly clashed with hers. “I’m sorry, Ami, but I have to taste you. I can’t wait any longer.”

Taste her? Did he mean her lips? Her breasts?

He again knelt on the bed. Gripping her ankles, he drew them apart and urged her feet back toward her bottom until she lay open before him, knees bent, the heart of her exposed. Then, releasing her, he slid his hands beneath her knees, dove forward, and buried his lips in her copper curls.

Shock swept through her. When he drew his tongue across the nub of her desire, she moaned and fell back against the covers. Never had she felt a pleasure so intense, and it only increased as his lips and tongue stroked and circled and nipped, stealing her breath, eliciting more moans. She fisted her hands in the covers, then released them and tunneled her fingers through his hair, holding him to her, urging him on.

So good.

He slipped a long finger within her.

Mmmm.

And another.

Even better.

Drew them in and out. In and out. She wanted more. Needed more. Then those fingers flexed at the same time his tongue flicked and fireworks exploded within her.

Ami cried out, every muscle tightening, her body clenching and unclenching around his fingers as his tongue continued to work her, drawing out the conflagration that consumed her.

When at last she collapsed against the mattress, she was breathless.

Marcus kissed his way up her stomach, her breasts, and settled his lower body between her thighs. His midnight hair tumbled down around his face as he loomed over her, much of his weight propped on his hands.

Reaching up, Ami buried her fingers in the soft tresses, drawing them back from his face as she marveled over all he had made her feel.

“Ready for more?” he whispered, and she adored him even more for the restraint it had taken for him to ask first. She could feel him trembling, his muscles strung tight with need.

She smiled. “Absolutely.” Drawing his head down, she captured his lips in a kiss she hoped would express everything she couldn’t voice, sliding her tongue forward to boldly stroke his.

Marcus hummed his approval. It was the first time Ami had acted as the aggressor. And she was oh so good at it. He wanted to begin anew. To fondle her breasts and take the time to slowly rouse her to a fevered pitch again, but couldn’t wait. Her cries as she had approached, then reached orgasm had nearly made him come himself. But he wanted to be inside her when he did. Needed to be inside her.

Reaching down, he positioned his cock at her entrance, so slick and warm. He had never been with a virgin before and didn’t know whether breaching her maidenhead slowly or quickly would prove less painful.

Recalling what she had said earlier—that pulling the knife out of her back slowly would have hurt more—he opted for quick and plunged inside to the hilt.

Ami sucked in a breath and stiffened.

Marcus relinquished her lips and forced himself to remain still, to allow her time to adjust. If she asked him to stop, to go no further, he would. It might very well kill him, but he would do it for her.

She didn’t ask. Her muscles relaxed. Her breath soughed out in a sigh.

Marcus met her gaze. “Hurt?” Hopefully she wouldn’t notice he’d had to squeeze the question out through teeth clenched so tightly he wondered that one didn’t crack.

“Only for a moment,” she said and smiled.

Marcus withdrew partially, then slid home again. She bit her lip, another of those delicious moans escaping her. It was all the impetus he needed. Withdrawing to the crown, he thrust again. And again. When he lowered his lips to her breasts, Ami slid her arms around him and grabbed his ass with her small sweet hands, spurring him on.

He wanted it to last, to draw it out, but couldn’t. He could feel the pressure rapidly building within him.

Reaching down, he found her clitoris and teased it with his fingers. Almost instantly, her body arched and her inner muscles clamped down around him as she cried out in bliss. Marcus roared as the most powerful orgasm he had ever experienced ripped through him, continuing on and on until he collapsed on top of her, utterly sated.

Ami’s heart raced beneath his ear. Her breath emerged in short pants, tickling his hair.

Wrapping his arms around her, Marcus rolled to his side and held her close, bodies still joined. His heart pounded as swiftly as hers did as she snuggled even closer.

No one ... no other woman had ever made him feel this way.

Pressing a kiss to the top of Ami’s head, he settled his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes.

Marcus sighed as consciousness gradually overcame sleep. Memories of the hours he had spent exploring every millimeter of Ami’s body sent warmth spiraling through him. Smiling, he rolled to his side and reached for her.

His eyes sprang open. Her side of the bed was empty, cold.

Her voice wafted to him from upstairs.

Disappointed, he tossed back the covers and, with a great deal of grumbling, donned his sweatpants and strode from the room. He had awoken twice during the day. The first time, he had been sprawled on his stomach with Ami pressed against his side, her head on his shoulder, one slender arm looped across his back, a soft thigh draped across his so that her knee brushed his ass. The second time, he had awoken spooned around her, marveling at how small and delicate she felt in his arms. Both times, he had been unable to resist making love to her.

As he climbed the stairs to the ground floor, he realized Ami was singing, not talking on the phone as he had at first assumed. She must have delved into the oldies in his collection today because she sang “Bei Mir Bist Du Shoen” as brightly as an Andrews sister.

He stepped into the hallway, followed her pretty voice to the study. Just before he reached the doorway, her voice changed in that fascinating way of hers as she moved on to a new song.

Pure pleasure tumbled through him, halting his footsteps as she sang “At Last” in tones low and sultry. Had he not known better, he would’ve thought Etta James herself were in the next room singing. Closing his eyes in ecstasy, Marcus leaned back against the wall.

He had loved music ever since Bethany had showed up in the Middle Ages and given him an iPod with a solar recharger when he was a teenager.

“At Last” concluded and “Sweet Lorraine” began, followed by “For Sentimental Reasons.”

A slow smile dawned.

She was singing love songs.

Joy swelled within him. Fear attempted to creep in and smother it, but he refused to let it.

Ami couldn’t be transformed without turning vampire. He had known that from the beginning, known that he would lose her eventually either to injury or age. But he renounced those worries for the time being. Right now, he just wanted to revel in the feelings she inspired. The happiness. What he could no longer deny was burgeoning love. For the first time in centuries, he would live in the now instead of for the future.

When she started belting out “Spiders and Snakes,” he straightened, perplexed, and stepped into the doorway.

Ami stood across the room in sweats and a T-shirt, smiling as though she had heard him coming despite the earphones covering her ears.

Marcus crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame as she removed them. “The last song seems an odd choice. Are you trying to tell me something?”

She shook her head. “I was tired of waiting for you to come in.”

Circling the desk, she skipped forward and leapt at him.

Marcus caught her with a laugh and held her tight as she wound her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. “I missed you when I woke up,” he murmured against her lips.

She kissed him. “I hated to leave you, but the phone rang.”

He hadn’t even heard it. Immortals, because of their acute senses, were generally light sleepers unless they sported wounds that needed more than blood to heal. Then they slept heavily ... as he must have to miss hearing the phone.

She drew his lower lip between her teeth. “Let’s take the night off and spend it in bed.”

A spark of amber light reflected in her green eyes as his own flared bright with desire. “We can’t. We have to meet Roy.”

“We can meet Roy another day.”

He slid his hands down to her ass and wished that were true. “I have no way of contacting him to reschedule our rendezvous.”

She sighed.

Marcus bit back a groan when she unwound her legs and slid down his body until her feet touched the floor, leaving him hard and aching.

“Seth called a meeting at David’s anyway. We’re supposed to be there at seven.” Without looking at him, she turned and headed back to the desk. “Chris had your Hayabusa picked up and delivered. The Prius has been repaired and returned, too.”

Marcus studied her as he struggled to rein in his lust. “Something is troubling you.”

She paused, then turned and leaned back against the desk, face somber. “I have a bad feeling about our meeting with Roy tonight.”

He approached her slowly. “Trepidation is normal, considering. I think we’re all a little uneasy about it, wondering if it’s a trap or if he’s sincere as Cliff, Joe, and Vincent were. I know there are those at the network who think we care little about the lives we take to protect humans and gifted ones. But the truth is, we would all rather offer vampires refuge and hope for a cure than remove their heads.”

“It’s unfair of them to judge you,” she whispered, her gaze full of empathy.

“And yet some do.” He sighed. “Roland and I have lived hundreds of years. Nearly a millennium in Roland’s case. Neither of us has ever been sought out by a vampire driven by anything other than madness or malice. Yet, here we are, willing to risk our own existences on the off chance that a vampire might truly desire our aid.” He offered her a wry smile. “Even Roland—as fractious as he can be—still hopes for the best. He may expect the worst, but he wishes for the best.”

Her answering smile appeared forced.

“Is it more than that?” he prodded. “Is it ... ?” He clamped his lips together for a moment. “Do you regret what we shared this morning?”

Her brow furrowed. “No. Why? Do you?”

Relief rushed through him. “Not one second. I’m just trying to discern the reason for your disquiet.”

She gripped the edges of the desk on either side of her hips until her knuckles turned white. “You know how I said I had a feeling something bad was going to happen tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I had the same feeling last night. And the night thirty-four vampires attacked you.”

She seemed to expect some sort of condemnation or mockery.

Instead, Marcus felt a tremendous swell of elation. “By feeling, do you mean premonition?”

Biting her lip, she nodded.

“Ami,” he moved closer, “are you sure you aren’t a gifted one?” There had never been a gifted one with her hair and eye coloring; but humans didn’t possess psychic gifts. Only gifted ones, born with their unique DNA, did. If Ami was a gifted one and was amenable, she could be transformed.

She nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Have you been tested?” he pressed. The network labs could identify gifted ones with DNA tests.

“No, but Seth will confirm it if you need him to.”

And, just that quickly, his spirits plummeted. Marcus stood, mute, staring at her as crushing disappointment filled him.

Ami chewed her lower lip. “I told you before that I wasn’t a gifted one.”

She had. And he had thought he had accepted it until that one, brief hope had struck like lightning.

He forced a smile and struggled to keep the despair he felt from his voice. “I know.” He touched her shoulder, drew her into a hug. “Come here. Don’t look so worried, love.”

She buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

“Everything will be fine tonight. We’ll have Roland with us. And I’ll call Richart just before we arrive at the rendezvous point and leave my cell on speakerphone so I won’t even have to dial him if we need him to teleport in reinforcements.”

Though she nodded, Ami said nothing.