Finally, she huffed out a resigned sigh. “All right, fine. If you insist, then let’s get this over with.”

Zael chuckled. “That’s the first time a woman’s ever said those words to me before.”

Brynne pursed her lips. “I’m glad to know I stand out among the throng.”

Oh, yeah. Understatement of the century right there. “That you do, Ms. Kirkland. That you do.”

He brought her into the center of the floor where he found a small space for them amid the dancing couples, groups, and singles that filled the club. She stood there in front of him, unmoving. The normally cool and confident Breed female suddenly looked as lost and uncertain as a child.

“What’s wrong?”

“You should know that I don’t…” Her words trailed off, and she slowly shook her head. Then she leaned in close to speak over the noise. “I don’t normally do…this.” Her confession skated warmly against his skin, her breath laced with the sweetness of the whisky she’d imbibed. “I’m not very good at it, Zael. Not in front of an audience, anyway. And never with a partner.”

Fuck. Was she talking about dancing? For a second, he wasn’t sure. His mind had blown a circuit while she was explaining, and now all of his blood was rushing south in a hot instant.

He swallowed on a parched throat, wondering if she had any idea what her whispered words had done to him. He had to force himself to remain still, in control, as she listed a little on her heels, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder to hold herself steady.

Her body brushed against his, inflaming him as powerfully as if he was a teenage boy, not a long-lived immortal warrior whose appetite for beauty and pleasure were practically legend among his kind.

“You doing anything alone is a pity for a hundred different reasons,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire he could not hide.

To his shock, she didn’t resist when he gathered her into his arms to dance. She didn’t stiffen or pull away when he began moving with her to his own rhythm, ignoring the frenetic beat of the music and the jostle of the other writhing bodies crushed in around them.

To his utter amazement, she held on to him too. She swayed with him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her thighs woven lightly between his. Her head came to rest lightly on his chest. She felt so warm in his arms. Softer than he’d imagined. Each breath he took filled his senses with Brynne’s unique scent—vanilla and rain and an elusive sweetness that seemed at odds with the tough facade she seemed so determined to present to the rest of the world.

Or maybe just toward him.

Zael didn’t know. At the moment, he didn’t care.

Time slowed. The song blaring over the sound system was loud and relentless, but the cacophony of the music and the hundreds of other people around them faded into the background as Zael held Brynne in his arms.

He hadn’t come to London expecting any of this.

But then, Brynne Kirkland was nothing if not unexpected.

Unpredictable. Unforgettable.

And now he had to add another superlative to the growing list where she was concerned.

Irresistible.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to feel her body pressed against him without the barrier of clothing between them. He wanted her so badly, he moaned with the force of his need.

She had to know how she was affecting him. Holy hell, she had to feel it.

She did. He saw the knowledge register in her widened eyes as she lifted her head from his chest. A small crease burrowed between her brows.

But instead of pushing him away or making a break for the nearest door, beautiful, tipsy Brynne did something else he wasn’t expecting.

Reaching up to lace her fingers behind his neck, she pulled him into a shocking, mind-blowingly deep kiss.

 

 

CHAPTER 3

 

She didn’t know what had gotten into her.

With her mouth locked on Zael’s in a kiss that seemed to stagger them both, Brynne wanted to blame her rash—not to mention mortifying—impulse on the whisky.

It was because of the whisky.

Had to be.

How else could she explain the fact that this unwelcome reunion with the Atlantean had been the highlight of her entire day?

What other excuse could she possibly find for the fact that she was currently wrapped within the arms of a man who had done nothing but unsettle and annoy her from the instant they met, and she liked it?

God help her, she more than liked it.

Moaning, she speared her fingers deeper into his thick golden hair as she pulled him closer and her tongue dove deeper into his mouth. Her fangs surged, elongating as her desire intensified. Behind her closed eyelids her vision burned blood-red, and beneath her silk blouse and tailored pants, her skin tingled with the awakening of her dermaglyphs.

She was overcome with need, no doubt because it had been so long since she’d given in to her body’s demands—carnal and otherwise. Surely, that had to be the reason.

Every cell in her body lit up with a sudden and startling current of electricity as she sparred and tangled her tongue with Zael’s. Heat licked through her senses, into her veins, with each brush of his lips over hers.

It wasn’t as if she’d never kissed a man before. She had—although admittedly, infrequently at most. To her chagrin, kissing Zael made the memory of those other encounters dissolve into oblivion now.

And regardless of the fact that an audience of other clubgoers surrounded Zael and her from all sides, Brynne couldn’t get enough of him.

Just how many shots had she drunk tonight?

She couldn’t remember, nor did she care. With Zael’s mouth moving so hotly over hers, the only thing she could answer to now was her desire.

Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? Distraction from her problems. From her failures.

And yes, from her loneliness too. Zael had been right about that. She’d wanted a release from the emptiness of her life.

Just for a little while.

For a night.

With someone who wouldn’t judge her, or be inclined to stick around long enough to see just how fucked up she truly was. With her train wreck of an upbringing, she had no experience with emotional bonds, aside from the half-sister she’d met just several years ago.

And if having spent the first twenty-odd years of her life simply trying to survive wasn’t bad enough, she also had the added bonus of a cellular metabolism flaw that was slowly tearing her apart. She wasn’t wired for relationships. Long-term romantic commitments were not in her DNA—literally.