We lock eyes and I hold her stare until her aura lights up, bright red, then I brazenly let my eyes drop to her lips, down to her chest, back up to her eyes. She is besotted, holding her breath, lust thumping through her. I let out a dry chuckle and run a hand through my hair. “What’s the most fun you’ve ever had here at work, Nessa?”

“Um . . .” She laughs nervously. “I don’t know.”

“Because I could really use some fun right now if you’re up for it.”

“I . . .” More nervous laughing. “I mean, what kind of . . .”

I’ve taken a huge gamble that I might overwhelm or frighten her, but so far she hasn’t run screaming. She’s nervous and excited, probably wondering if I mean what she thinks I mean. She licks her dry lips and glances over her shoulder at the small office with the door ajar.

“That your uncle’s office?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She grins.

I slowly walk around the front desk, our eyes locked, and her aura jumps with orange and red when I reach her.

She licks her lips again. “Just so we’re on the same page, Mr., I mean, Kaidan, what kind of fun are we, um . . .” I step closer as she babbles. “Talking about?”

“The kind that will take my mind off everything, and make you very happy,” I say in a low voice. I hold back the beast with all my energy and wait for her to give me the go.

“Oh,” she breathes. She tentatively touches my forearm, and lets her fingers travel down to my hand, where we join fingers.

My relief is palpable.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I bring my mouth down to hers, this lovely girl whose face I won’t remember after a week’s time. I’m hoping for that epic passion to hit me like it did in the hotel room, but it doesn’t. We’re moving toward the office door, groping and snogging as we go.

I kick the door closed behind us with my foot.

She moans as I lift her onto the desk. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

I silence her with my mouth, and focus. Though her hair is curly, not straight, and she doesn’t smell of pears, I let my need take over and I give her the best night of work she’s ever had.

An awful thought occurs as I walk back to the room.

Had Anna listened to my office romp?

Wait a bloody minute—who cares if she did? Perhaps it would do her some good. Stubborn girl. But still . . . I feel oddly off. I can’t put my finger on it, but the sex with Nessa didn’t offer me the satisfaction it should have. In fact, it left me feeling empty, like a husk, needing something more.

What I need now is a good night of sleep to shake off the rejection from Anna. She’s got my brain muddled is all. I knew she’d be a hard sell, but this is worse than I’d imagined. I hadn’t expected to sleep with her the first night, but I definitely hadn’t anticipated a firm stop sign when I’d barely reached second base. I’m accustomed to getting what I want.

I shake my head as I let myself in the room. Anna is quiet and still, but her breathing is too shallow. She’s still awake. I go to the bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth.

Then I strip naked and climb into bed. I prop a hand behind my head and wonder what the little nun is thinking about. I should go to sleep, but I can’t help but get under her skin one last time, the way she’s gotten under mine with her angel voodoo.

“Anna?” I’m not surprised when she doesn’t answer. “Did you at least enjoy your first kiss?”

She’s quiet a second more. “Just go to sleep, Kaidan.”

It’s not a “no,” which makes me smile in the dark. I learned a valuable lesson tonight about how to win over Anna. Tomorrow I’ll be on my A-game. I let out a deep breath and fall straight to sleep, semi-satisfied.

CHAPTER SIX

Pears and Oranges

“I keep a sinister smile and a hold of my heart.

You want to get inside, then you can get in line, but not this time.”

—“Hero/Heroine” by Boys Like Girls

Winning over Anna means walking a fine line. In many ways she’s like other girls—she giggles and blushes and is flattered when I flirt—but only to a certain extent. Unlike most other girls I’ve met, Anna is an “old soul.” She’s like a proper old woman in a hot, young body. She can be a downright prude biddy, saying things like, “Do you think you could try to be a gentleman . . . and maybe wear shorts to bed?” and “This is going to be a long trip if you give girls the bedroom eyes every time we stop.”

I’ll admit, I love to shock her. I stood there nude this morning, wanting her to see exactly what was available for the taking. But cripes, I hadn’t expected her to scream like a banshee. And that’s the problem: I’m not the only one doing the shocking here. She continues to render me speechless with nonchalant admissions, like “I can sense pregnancies” and “I can feel other people’s suffering.”

Exactly how powerful is this girl? She can bloody well do angel things. And her angel voodoo has other power, as well, such as the power to make me open my mouth and say entirely too damn much. She’s just so selfless. So genuinely interested. There are brief moments when I feel . . . I don’t bloody know how to explain it . . . but I don’t feel myself.

I’m supposed to be making her fall for me. I’m supposed to be reminding her that I’m badass, and then crafting moments of comfort and openness. Well¸ that’s exactly what’s happening, but I’m not crafting shite. Instead I’m feeling it. She’s using her skills on me.

This girl is dangerous.

She’s got the talents of a cookie-making nana, a world-renowned psychologist, and a seductive succubus all in one. And the most mind-bending part is that she has no clue about her effect on me. It’s only been two days and I’m torn between wanting to throw her to the wolves before she infects my mind any further or hide her and keep her all for myself.

And now she’s asking me about other girls. About my motives when I work. She is digging too deep and assuming I’m some sad chump who feels bad for what I do.

But I don’t.

Yet it’s not to my benefit to announce what a heartless bastard I am. It is good she’s talking nonstop, though. In our quiet moments all I can think about is having sex with her—pulling over behind an oversized road sign, or lifting her onto my lap as I drive.

And then as I drive she says something that throws a spanner in the works.

“. . . I care about you.”

Her words reverberate through me and fill me with a sense of terror.

“Don’t say that,” I snap. I am shaking on the inside. This is what I wanted, right? For her feelings to grow. But it’s not how I thought it would be. It’s far more complicated, because now I’m feeling things I didn’t anticipate, like guilt, and I can’t understand why. “You shouldn’t say that, about caring. You hardly know me.”

She’s too foolish. Too open and trusting, watching me with those fawn eyes. Damn it, she needs to know the constant danger she will be in for the rest of her life. She needs to understand how I live and breathe that danger every day. She needs to lose her virginity, to convince the Dukes she’s one of us. If she doesn’t embrace her life as a Neph, the Dukes will end it for her.

“And you hardly know me, but here we are,” she says. “You offered to take me on this trip. You’ve answered my gazillion questions. You haven’t forced me to do anything, and you haven’t exposed me to your father. I’m glad to be here with you.”

No. Stupid feelings. I will not let those warm, chocolate-chip-cookie words soften me. I hold the wheel tightly and stare at her.