Wicked Nights

stronger, faster.”

Better?

Yes, there was that, wasn’t there, she thought, that shot of confidence fizzling completely. The sandwich seemed to compact inside her stomach, becoming a lead ball. “I’m not sure why you’d even want to kiss me. You make me sound like a real prize. Maybe we should just forget our bargain altogether.”

He slammed a fist into the table’s surface. “The bargain remains intact.”

The atypical outburst astounded her, causing her eyes to widen. Must have astounded him, too, because the moment he realized just how much force he’d used, he licked his lips and added smoothly, “Otherwise, I would be allowed to desert you at any moment, would I not? And you do not want that, do you, Annabelle?”

No, because he would be able to return to the heavens. And that was the only reason she decided to capitulate. Really. “Fine. The bargain remains intact. But the more you talk, the more I dislike you. You know that, right?”

“It shall be my pleasure to remedy it. First, it is not your strength or your speed that draws me. It’s your… everything. Your laugh, your wit, your emotions and the way they change. Your courage, your sweetness, your near obsessive delight for cookies. Second, you are indeed a prize. You’ve made me want what no one else ever has. A communion of bodies.”

Uh, never again would she tell this man he had no idea how to seduce a woman. His words affected her, deeply and inexorably. A communion of bodies. His. Hers. Theirs, as one. Just the thought caused goose bumps to break out over her skin. And there was no more nervousness. None at all. He’d just reminded her that the act was meant to be special, not shameful, between two people meant to be together.

Meant to be? You and Zacharel?

He flattened his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Third. The blond angel, Thane, the one you claimed to like better than me. This is his cave, and those are his tools.” With a tilt of his head, he motioned to the rack that so reminded her of her hospital gurney. “Know that he will use them on you if you turn to him. You will not turn to him.”

Okay, that had sounded like jealousy. And the change in him, from distant and threatening to possessive and needy, was as startling as his fist to the table. She reeled, empowered all the more.

“You are right,” he said, before she could reply. “Talking is doing us no good. Eat.”

Well, darn. Every time she thought she’d gained the upper hand, he had to go and ruin it. “Yes, Daddy,” she grumbled, and popped another piece of bread in her mouth.

That earned her a fiery glare.

As she finished off the food, she watched Zacharel through slitted lids, trying not to be obvious in her study of him. Despite his change in mood, he could have stepped from a painting, so striking was his visage. Would she ever get used to the beauty of him?

After all, his hair would always be black, his skin unwrinkled. He would never change. He would always look this way, while she would age. Ugh. She would age, wouldn’t she?

The only thing different about him was his wings. They were now mostly gold with specks of white threaded through the feathers. If he was right, and he was evolving into one of the Elite, whatever that meant, he was evolving quickly.

“Just so you know,” she said when she realized the silence had grown just as tense as their words. “I do not desire Thane.”

He nodded, satisfied.

“So how long will we stay here?”

“No more than four days. I need to know if demons can sense you when you’re underground. The answer will dictate our next course of action.”

Plenty of time for him to teach her a little about fighting demons. Of course, that lesson would involve physical contact, and physical contact would probably cause her hormones to go wild. She would want to kiss him, which meant, according to their bargain—which he hadn’t let her terminate—she would have to kiss him.

Would she find the courage?

Stupid question, plaguing her.

What if she sucked—the bad kind of sucking? What if she turned him off kissing forever? What if she freaked out? Or, what if she liked it? What if she wanted more? What if he refused to give her more? What if he rebuked her as he’d done to that other female? That beautiful angel with the dark, curling hair? Despite the fact that he claimed to desire Annabelle.

Or, what if he wanted more than a kiss but Annabelle refused to give him more? Would he then decide she wasn’t worth the effort and dump her somewhere?

No, she thought next. He wasn’t a slime. He might be cold and callous, but he wasn’t a liar, either. He had agreed to stay with her for a month, and so he would…no matter what. Would he regret that promise, though? Or would he be glad for it?

Only one way to learn the answers to all your questions…

Added bonus: the first time would be over, done, and the nervousness would leave her once and for all.

Well, that settled it.

“Zacharel,” she said on a wispy catch of breath.

His gaze drilled into her very soul. “What are you thinking about, Annabelle?” Huskily asked, a caress to each of her senses.

Like him, she couldn’t lie. Not this time, the truth already proven by the softening of her lips. “Kissing you.”

His gaze immediately dropped to her lips, his pupils gobbling up his irises. “Why?”

Because you think I’m a prize. Because, when you look at me, I feel cherished rather than leered at. “I believe you’ll be familiar with my answer—because.”

Slowly the corners of his mouth curled up. “So what are you waiting for? You know what you must do.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ZACHAREL WAITED, TENSE, as Annabelle slowly stood and closed the distance between them. He tensed further when she at last positioned herself between his legs. Part of him screamed to stop her, to stop this. After the first tasting, there would be no going back. He would know, the knowledge a part of him. The rest of him screamed for more. For all.

The rest of him won.

His curiosity was far too great, but more than that, his need to pleasure this particular woman was too great. Her scent was the sweetest of aphrodisiacs. Her curves had been made for his hands, and his alone—as he would soon confirm. He coiled his fingers around her small, fragile hips, just as she flattened her palms on his shoulders. At the moment of contact, her heated gasp filled the space between them.

“Closer,” he rasped, tugging her until they were flush. Because he was seated, they were now eye to eye. Mouth to mouth. Have to taste…

But she didn’t give him what he wanted. “If you don’t like it, just tell me to stop, okay? Don’t go all caveman and push me away or call me names or blame me.”

“I will like it, and you will teach me what to do.”

“But if you don’t—”

“You’re stalling.” Zacharel slid a hand up the ridges of her spine and into her hair, fisting the strands and urging her to close the rest of the distance.

“You’re sure?”

He pressed his lips against hers. Lips so different from his own; softer, as soft as rose petals, fuller, holding him in thrall at that very first brush. He pulled back, marveling, and then he went in again…marveled anew at the decadence of her…then again, and this time, moaning, she opened for him.

Her tongue rolled against his, bringing with it the tastes of summer: berries dipped in cream, newly blooming