Has a woman ever walked away from me before? Alistair couldn’t recall it ever happening. The novelty of it did nothing for his aching cock.

If he’d wondered at their compatibility before, he didn’t now. The fiery passion that had erupted between them didn’t care about the case or so-called notions of proper relationships.

Wizard, witch, sorceress. The needs of the body demanded fulfillment. He knew she felt it, too. Sensed it.

Yet she’d walked away.

Didn’t even say goodnight or offer him a blanket.

Did she want him to chase after?

A man had his pride. He wouldn’t go without invitation. Let her come to him. In the meantime, he’d get some sleep. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be getting much soon.

He quickly discovered that there was no extra bed in her home; the spare bedroom had been converted into a greenhouse space redolent with the smell of growing green things and earth. The other room had been made into a lab.

As for the basement? He didn’t do below-ground quarters. It reminded him too much of home—and not in a good way.

He took the couch, the lumpy, uncomfortable couch.

I should be sleeping with her. How else to keep an eye on her?

Don’t you mean put your hands on her? He’d bet she felt soft.

There will be no touching. No more allowing himself to be distracted from his primary purpose. From this point on, he would remain clear-headed—and blue-balled.

To divert his mind from what she might be wearing, he thought about what he’d learned. Which still led him back to Willow and the fact that there was more than met the eye.

Her whole family had something off about them. None of them were what they seemed, and he wondered how that had slipped everyone’s or, most specifically, TDCM’s attention.

According to public records, Ann and her husband, Willum, were human. The research he’d done on Willow had her descended from parents who barely tested with magic at all. Dad was just a regular Joe who did car repair. When he retired from the garage he’d built into a business, two of his sons took over.

The other four chose other paths.

None of them were official witches. Nothing on paper anyhow, although Willow did admit that they studied sorcery.

Who did they work for? Willow wouldn’t say. Did another secret agency exist out there, one that even the TDCM was ignorant about? Alistair hated being in the dark.

Then there was the mother, a blank slate who, on the surface, appeared human. Too human, which was the problem. How did she hide her power?

He might never have known if Willow had not admitted that her mom was the real power in the family. Which made sense. Seven kids didn’t spontaneously inherit magic without at least one parent having it, and apparently, it was generational. A strong bloodline to have managed to keep sorcery alive—and hidden—for this long.

We all have secrets. Especially Alistair. Willow had begun unraveling his. She’d discovered that he wasn’t the true son of Fitzroy. The demon attack might have distracted her from that fact, but she wouldn’t let it rest.

He expected that by morning, after a night’s rest, she’d be prying, chipping at his carefully created persona.

What would he tell her? The truth still wasn’t an option. Yet, he had to tell her something. Just like he couldn’t have her spilling his secrets. If she told someone at the TDCM…it could ruin so many things.

So kill her. Usually, he wouldn’t hesitate. The mission was more important than one woman. Meant more than a hundred human women.

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Surely, he could make her understand he had his reasons. Get her to trust him.

Why am I agonizing over this? It was rather emasculating the way she’d twisted his goals, and she didn’t even grasp the depths of how much she affected him, or else she wouldn’t be in her bed.

Alone.

He turned on the couch. It creaked, protesting the abuse by his big and heavy body. He’d probably wreck it if he spent the night on it.

He couldn’t leave, though. Not with all the attacks. Were they only aimed at him? Alistair’s mission made him a target, but what of the obvious interest in Willow? Was it simply guilt by association?

If he left, would they leave her alone? What if he left and they attacked, and Alistair wasn’t there to defend her?

Best not risk it. Besides, she’d proven useful thus far.

She’d be even more useful naked.

What did she sleep in? The other night when he’d come at her call, she’d worn ridiculous nightwear that covered her neck to ankle. She still looked fetching.

Did she perhaps wear something with a little less fabric knowing he was here? Did she toss and turn like he did, unable to settle her mind? Kept awake by the needs of her body…

He stared at the dark hall leading to her bedroom. So near, and yet so far. How long would it take to reach her if something tried to break in? Would he even hear an attack?

He twiddled his thumbs.

The house creaked.

Normal shifting.

The house rattled as a plane passed overhead.

He sighed.

Hold on, did he hear something from the bedroom?

Better check it out.

Getting to his feet, he left the top button of his pants undone, and his shirt remained on the armrest of the couch. He padded down the hall to the closed door that taunted him. The knob turned at this touch.

Years of stealthy practice meant he entered without making noise. The game of stealth being the first every child he knew learned. Everything growing up was a trial, a test of skills, a way to get extra food or praise.

Given his upbringing, he’d expected a spell to hit as soon as he crossed the bedroom threshold, so he had a shield ready. However, nothing happened.

He entered and saw a woman-sized lump under a flowery comforter. It didn’t move, not even when he stood over her. A gaze down at her peaceful features showed Willow slept.

How could she sleep with the turmoil she’d left him in?

Alistair paced around her room, not a large space, a queen-sized bed and two nightstands wide. The carpet underfoot cradled his bare feet with thick fibers. The curtains hanging over the windows appeared to be of the blackout kind. The only light came from a plug-in on the wall, a softly glowing crescent moon highlighting a witch-on-a-broom silhouette.

He stood by her bedside, unabashedly staring.

How peaceful she appeared, her lashes resting against the tops of her cheeks. Her lips slightly parted.

Why does she fascinate me so much? He’d met more beautiful women. More socially acceptable ones, too. He knew women who didn’t argue. Who wouldn’t shove away if he kissed them.

So, why her?

“You’re being creepy.”

The words startled him, especially since he realized he’d fallen for her opossum act. “I was checking on something.”

“I’m not naked under these blankets if that’s what you’re wondering.”

One illusion shattered. “I thought I heard something.”

“You mean the sound of your ego deflating because I didn’t let you into my pants?”

She rolled onto her back, and despite the gloom of the room, he could see her staring at him.

“You were right to push me away. You are a distraction I can ill afford.”

“Is that because you’re an imposter?” She shoved herself to a seated position, the comforter falling to her waist and showing off her T-shirt that said, Warning: Witch with Attitude.

“I’m not your enemy.”

“Says you, but I only have your word for that. Who are you? Really? Are you even a wizard like you say?”

He held up his hands, letting a tiny ball of light dance between the palms. “You’ve seen me do magic.”

“Which we both know doesn’t mean shit. I do magic, too, and I’m not a wizard.”

The boldness of her words, not to mention the intelligence, spurred him to speak, and reveal. “What if I were to tell you that there are races in the world that even the TDCM knows nothing about? Some so well hidden that their very existence doesn’t appear in any historical annals.” Because no one wanted a reminder of the past.

Her lips pursed. “Is that what you’re claiming to be? Some unknown mysterious species with magic and a big nose meddling in our affairs?”

“My nose isn’t big.” Other parts of him were, however.

“I don’t see you denying the meddling.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that.”

“What, then? Spying?”

“Of a sort.”

She scrambled to her knees, and her expression turned fierce. “You’re a traitor.”

“Before you try to turn me in, listen. My infiltration of the TDCM might have been under falsified pretenses. However, it was the most efficient way to get my hands on the information I need.”

“Need for what?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

But she knew. Guessed immediately. “This is about the demons.”

A direct lie would serve no purpose. “Yes.”

“Are you a demon?”

“No.” Not in the sense she believed anyway.

“But you know of them.”

“Yes, and I can tell you that they are a bad thing to have happen to the world.”

“So what’s your plan to deal with them? Because, I assume, you do have one and aren’t just dicking us all around for shits and giggles.”

“I cannot say more on the matter. Suffice it to say, there are those looking into the situation.” Some who wanted to act before it was too late, as opposed to those who decided to ignore the plight of mankind and the world.

“I should turn you in,” she said, a frown wrinkling her brow. “But then that would mean working with Morfeus or some other asshat at the TDCM.”

“Does this mean I’m not an asshat?” His lips quirked.

“Oh, you’re still a jerk, but at least you’re tolerable.”

“Only tolerable? I would have thought I was more than that.”

“Why would you think that?” She arched a brow. “Because I kissed you? I’ve kissed plenty of men.”

For some reason, the boast fired something inside him, brought out a savage possessiveness, and he growled, “None of them can compare to me.”

“If you say so,” spoken with a smirk.

The mockery couldn’t be borne. The ache in his loins needed relief. The fire in his blood…only she could quench it.

He grabbed her by the upper arms, and she sucked in a breath, her vivid eyes locked on his. She didn’t struggle as he muttered, “Why must you constantly argue?”

“Because I can’t allow myself to like you,” was her whispered reply.

“Would that be so bad?”

“We’re not compatible.”

Really? Tell that to the molten desire running through his body. “I’d say the problem is”—he brushed his lips softly across the skin of her cheek, barely touching—“that we are too much in tune.”

“We can’t do this. Shouldn’t,” she said, her eyelids drooping, her head tilting back.

“Too late,” he murmured. I can’t stop myself. He slanted his mouth over hers, claiming her lips, tasting her.

It ignited the passion that had been simmering between them. They went from verbally sparring and dancing around their desire to locked in a frantic kiss.

He lost all reason in that moment. Forgot all the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this. Forgot he should be watching for danger. Keeping his distance.

But doing so meant not holding her in his arms and tasting the sweetness of her lips.

Arousal washed over him, and awash in sensation, every nerve ending in his body alive, he nibbled at her lips and, when she parted them, sucked on her tongue.

Despite her protests, she didn’t try to escape. On the contrary, she gripped him tightly, fingers digging into his shoulders.

His mouth left the sweet haven of her mouth to drag along the skin of her jaw to her ear.

A soft moan escaped her, and her hands slid into his hair, yanking it, pulling him back. “We should stop,” she said.

“Do you really want me to stop?” he growled. He stared at her, her lids heavy with languor.

She wet her lips. “No. No, I don’t.”

The answer he needed. He crushed his mouth to hers, and his hands skimmed over her shirt, finding the hem and sliding under to touch bare and smooth flesh.

Not to be outdone, she caressed the bare skin of his back, branding him with her palms, bringing him alive in a way he’d never experienced.

Usually a man in control, he felt awash in sensation. Propelled by desire and need.

Her shirt came off, leaving her bared to him. Her hands found the zipper to his pants and took care of it, shoving them down, denuding him.

Flesh-to-flesh contact drew a groan from him. Her curves felt so right against him.

He pulled back, far enough that he could see her, admire her full hips, slightly curved belly, and perfect handfuls of breasts. A body made to worship, especially the puckered nipples.

As he admired her, so did she ogle him, and his cock, already hard, managed to achieve a steel-like quality.

“Damn,” she whispered.

A word that made him growl, “Come here.” Hooking her by the nape, he dragged her to him and devoured her mouth. She nipped his lip, and he made a noise.

He wanted her so badly.

But first, a taste of her berries. His mouth slid down her neck, past the rapid flutter of her pulse, then farther still to her breasts. He couldn’t help but cup them as he teased the flesh, weighing them in his hands, squeezing them.

“They’re not melons,” she said with a soft chuckle.

“Yet I bet they taste delicious,” was his reply before latching on to a pert nipple.

She cried out as he sucked, guttural noises of desire. She yanked his hair, demanding more, unafraid to show her pleasure.

He shoved her back onto the bed, lying her upon it, legs splayed. He knelt between her thighs, cock jutting proudly.

She eyed him, eyes soft with arousal, wet lips parted. She crooked a finger and beckoned him.

Surely she didn’t mean…

She beckoned again, and he groaned.

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t think.” She reached out, and he moved closer. She reached for him.

What man could resist?

He moved close enough to give her what she asked for.

Her lips latched on to his swollen head.

Damn. He threw his head back and uttered a sound then shuddered as she drew him deeper into her mouth, suctioning him. While her mouth lavished attention on his length, her fingers kneaded his sac. She paid wet attention to every inch of him, sliding him in and out, bobbing her head along his length, fast and eager.

Despite her needing no urging, he still weaved his fingers into her hair, tugging it hard enough to make her growl, the sound vibrating along the length of his cock.

It almost made him come.

Not yet. It was too soon. He hadn’t had his turn.

He pulled free, and she made a sound of protest, her lips not ready to relinquish their prize.

“My turn,” he growled, positioning himself between her thighs.

The scent of her enveloped him, and he wasted no time going in for a lick. He let his agile tongue flick across her clit, teasing the nub, making it swell.

He nipped it, pulling it with his lips while she bucked under him, panting and mewling. Her fingers dug into the sheets as she went wild under his attentions.

But he wanted her more than wild. He wanted her to come.

One finger. Two. He thrust them into her, feeling her moist channel pulsing around them as his tongue worked her button. He pushed deep and was rewarded with a sharp cry and a shudder as her first orgasm hit.

Her flesh shivered around his fingers, and she gasped for breath.

He didn’t stop. Even as she mewled, “It’s too much,” he held her down and kept going until she began moaning and crying out, “Yes, yes.”

That was his cue. He covered her body with his, inserting himself between her thighs, the tip of his shaft probing her moist sex.

He thrust, hard and deep jabs that had her panting.

Not good enough. He grabbed her by the ass and changed his angle of entry and thrust again.

A sharp cry met him, and her body clenched.

Found her sweet spot.

He began to pump her, over and over, striking her G-spot each time, leaving her unable to catch her breath.

Yet she still found enough air to let loose a window-shaking scream as her second climax ripped through her. A major orgasm that fisted his cock, and brought him close to her, so close, their magic, wild in that moment of uncontrolled passion, touched and exploded.

He bellowed her name as he came, hot spurts that marked her womb. A joining of bodies unlike anything he’d ever experienced or imagined.

Fucking perfection.

At least he thought it was. Willow, on the other hand…

“You idiot!” She shoved at him, and her eyes blazed.

“What’s wrong?” He truly didn’t grasp the problem. She’d orgasmed, twice. The tiny quivers of her flesh still rippled around him.

“You came inside me.”

Yes, he most certainly had.

Made her mine. Which caused him to feel great satisfaction.

But according to the ire sparking in her eyes, she was most definitely not happy about it.