Roman was the picture of tranquility as he leaned against the wall, a far cry from my frazzled, pacing state. “Of course she did. It’s like mobsters who threaten their victims in a crowd—there’s absolutely no way you could have fought back, not with that many witnesses.”

“Nice analogy,” I muttered. “Maybe there’ll be a horse head in my bed next.”

“I could leave one in hers, if it would help,” he offered.

That almost made me smile. Almost. Except I wasn’t entirely sure he was joking. “The really comical part is that Seth brought it about, you know? He was trying to stay away from me and walked right into this.”

“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Look,” he said in all seriousness, taking a few steps toward me. “It sucks that she’s doing this, and we can definitely rule out coincidence. But if Seth’s with Maddie while she’s there, you know nothing’s going to happen. And Carter will report back to us. No point in getting worked up over it.”

“Easier said than done. Nothing’s going to distract me from this.”

He moved closer still and rested his hands on my upper arms. “Oh? When was the last time you went dancing?”

I blinked in surprise. The last time I’d been dancing? It had been a salsa lesson at the bookstore earlier this year, after which Seth and I had ripped each other’s clothes off in my office.

“A while ago,” I said evasively, thrown off by both the question and his fingertips on my skin. “Why?”

“Let’s go out,” he said. “There are a million places we can go. Any kind of dance you want. If memory serves, you’re an okay dancer.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m an excellent dancer, and you know it.”

He leaned his face closer. “Then prove it.”

“Irrelevant. I don’t feel like going out.”

Roman sighed and stepped away. I found I was a little disappointed to have him let go. “Man,” he said. “I remember when you used to be fun. I’m glad I left town when I did.” He walked over to my entertainment center and knelt down. “Well, if Muhammed won’t come to the mountain…”

“Good grief. You’re a wealth of religious proverbs tonight, aren’t you?”

“Hey, just trying to—Jesus Christ. CDs? You do know the Dark Ages ended a long time ago.” He pointed at my collection with disdain. “Everyone’s gone digital now. You know, those little magical devices that store music? Or do you consider them some kind of witchcraft?”

“Technology changes every year. Jump on a fad, and you’re obsolete before you know it.”

“Honestly, it’s a wonder you aren’t cooking over a fire in the middle of your living room.”

“You forget—I don’t cook.”

“I live here. I haven’t forgotten.”

By then, he’d put one of my “archaic” CDs in the player. I laughed. “You’re one to talk about ancient history. This is old school.”

“Nah.” He rose and offered me his hands. “This is classic. Never goes out of style.”

“Yeah,” I said, as the music began playing. “All the kids are doing foxtrot nowadays. Geez, it’s even the slow style.” But I still let him take hold of my hands.

“Hey, you’re the one who owns that CD.”

We both fell into the steps effortlessly, gliding around the living room and managing to dodge the furniture with some grace. Roman had a long list of flaws, but one of his better traits was that he was almost as good a dancer as me.

“Why do you dance so well?” I asked, stepping over Aubrey. She didn’t seem concerned at all about getting squashed and had shown no signs of moving when we began to dance.

“What kind of a question is that? Why do you dance so well?”

“Natural instinct, I guess. That’s what I’m wondering. Was it something you were born with? Or is it something you can’t help but perfect over the years? I mean, you’ve been around for a while. I suppose if you put your mind to something that long, you can’t help but master it.”

He laughed. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. Maybe it’s in the blood.”

“Oh, come on. I cannot picture Jerome out on the dance floor.”

“Not him. My mother. She was a dancer. A slave girl for this king a long, long time ago…” Roman’s gaze turned inward. He didn’t seem angry, so much as nostalgic. “Of course, he was pretty pissed off when she got pregnant. That kind of thing tends to ruin the chorus line.”

“What happened to her?” I hadn’t been around that long ago, but certain things stayed the same through time. Slaves who angered their masters got beaten or sold to someone else. Or worse.

“I don’t know. Jerome took her away, off to some village where she could be a free woman.”

I frowned. I still had trouble wrapping my mind around the idea of my boss falling—romantically and divinely—for a mortal. “Did he stay with her? He would have been a demon by then….”

“He never came back. First time I saw him was last year. My mother didn’t hold a grudge, though. She would talk about him all the time…said he was beautiful. I don’t know if she meant as an angel or a demon, though. Probably he looked the same, seeing as they’re the same beings, really.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t look like John Cusack though.”

“No.” This made Roman laugh again. “Probably not. My mother took on mundane jobs whenever we moved villages—washing woman, field worker. But at least she was free. And she still danced sometimes. I saw her once, when I was really young…just before she was killed. There was a festival, and I remember her dancing in front of the fire, wearing this red dress.” All mirth disappeared from him. “That image is burned into my mind. I can see how an angel would have fallen for her.”

I didn’t ask any questions about how she was killed. In those days, it could have been as simple as a raid or attack. They were commonplace. Or, more likely, she’d been killed in an attempt on Roman and his sister. He’d once mentioned that they were always on the run from angels and demons.

“So maybe you learned to dance as a subconscious tribute to her,” I said, shifting to something lighter.

That half-smile returned. “Or maybe I just inherited my father’s attraction to graceful, sensual women.”

The song ended, and we stood there, frozen in time with our hands still entwined. Foxtrot was hardly the bumping and grinding seen in modern clubs, but our bodies were close, and I felt like I could sense the heat from his. Whether it was real or imagined, I couldn’t say. But I did know there was something very seductive about dancing, about mirroring another’s body, and somehow, I wasn’t surprised when he leaned down and kissed me.

I was a little surprised that I kissed him back. But not for long. Because as our lips met, I realized how much I’d come to regard Roman as a comforting fixture in my life. We’d grown from adversaries to friends to…what? I didn’t entirely know. I did know that I liked having him around and that I’d never really shaken the attraction that had drawn me to him long ago. I also knew that I was lonely for the touch of someone I liked and that I had an automatic instinct to respond to this sort of thing.

His mouth pressed harder against mine, as hot and demanding as I recalled. His hands quickly moved from the formal orientation of foxtrot to something more intimate and eager, sliding down to my hips and somehow managing to push me against the wall while also shoving my shirt up. My own hands were around his neck, my lower body pressing against his as I felt all my nerves set on fire and lust coursing through me.

He managed to break away enough to pull my shirt off, and then his hands moved to my breasts, which were wrapped in a white lace bra. He glanced down and made a face as he pulled from our kiss. “Can’t you make it a front hook?”

A small bit of shape-shifting made the bra disappear altogether. “Don’t trouble yourself,” I said.

He smiled and moved his lips to my neck while his hands cupped the curves of my breasts. It made it impossible for me to take his shirt off, but I slid my hands under it, loving the feel of his warm skin and taut muscles. I tipped my head back, letting him taste me and increase the intensity of his kissing.