My hand covers her warm stomach. “Let me touch you. Just on the outside. Let me make you feel good.” She groans sweetly, a sound of need, and my hand trails down.

So close.

I keep my eyes on her face, though her eyes are closed. I love watching her reactions.

I don’t expect it when she begins to shake her head. Or when she says, “No. No, we can’t.”

Something is wrong. I drop my hand. “What is it?” I step away, worried I’ve upset her. “I’m sorry, Anna—”

“No,” she says in a quaking voice. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m not sorry.”

I blink. My skin flushes from fire to ice as she bends and pulls her clothes back on. I’m not at all certain what’s going on. She pulls me into a hug, and I have to remind myself she is prompting this touch, so it’s okay. I let my arms go around her trembling form.

“You’re shaking,” I say, still confused.

“Yeah, well, my body is pretty angry at me right now.” She laughs shortly, without humor. “But I don’t want to take any chances when it comes to the hilt.”

Any remaining fire is put out at the mention of that thing, and my heart gives a lurch. The prophecy says the Neph of light and dark has to be pure of heart, I assume to be able to use the Sword of Righteousness. I hadn’t really thought about what that would entail.

“You think it’s that sensitive?” I ask.

“I don’t know. It’s meant for angels, you know?”

Ugh, damn that stupid sword.

“Are you okay?” she asks me.

Actually, no. I don’t think a moment of pleasure with the man she loves will render her impure, especially if she remains a virgin, but I understand her apprehension. A lot is at stake. I can’t imagine the pressure she must feel.

I hold her face and run my thumb over her cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” she says. “I love you. I want all that with you. Maybe someday?”

I shut my eyes against her hopeful words. I dare not believe there is a someday. There is here and now, and we’re promised nothing more. Especially with the prophecy hanging over us.

She stretches up and kisses me. “I think I need chocolate.”

This gets a laugh from me. Only Anna.

“Will you make me some brownies?”

“Me?” She must’ve misspoken.

“It’s my turn to watch you cook.”

I can’t help but grin. “I assume you actually want to be able to eat these brownies?” But Anna only laughs.

She takes me by the hand, leading me down the hall toward the kitchen. Her defusing tactic has worked, taking my mind off the disappointment of the moment.

And one thing’s for certain—after tonight I’ll never look at brownies the same way again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Saving Z

“This is our last night, but it’s late and I’m trying not to sleep

’Cause I know when I wake I will have to slip away.”

—“Daylight” by Maroon 5

Tonight was the most extraordinary night of my life, but also the most difficult, psychically. I can’t explain the monster that lives inside me, or the battle I wage against it.

I remember when Father called me a caveman to Anna the night he met her, and he laughed, but not because he was taking the piss. He laughed because he knows what I feel, how constant my longings are, and it’s funny to him. Amusing that I fight for self-control every waking moment, that at any second I could turn into a raging Lust Hulk, never satisfied.

Only not green. Lucky me.

There were times tonight when my fraying willpower was nearly shredded by innocent touches, and it kept me on edge. I know it was beyond stupid to chase her to the airport and beg her to come home with me. The smart move, the safe one, would have been to let her go back to Georgia. But as I hold her in my arms, in my bed, listening to the sound of her soft breathing, I can’t bring myself to regret our one night together.

We’d both finally fallen asleep a bit ago, but I woke during the night, filled with familiar paranoia. It’s worse with her at my side. Even though I know the Dukes and whisperers are in Vegas tonight, I can’t stomach the thought of Anna being in danger. All because of my selfish desire to have her.

She is complex, my lovely Anna. All gentleness. A bleeding heart for injustice. A brilliant capacity for forgiveness. But despite her gentleness, I’ve seen how her hands ball into tiny fists when she’s ticked off. I’ve witnessed the fire in her eyes when she’s lost to the hunger of her demon side. I understand that hunger. That need to lose oneself completely to pure physical sensation with no regard to consequences. That urge to say fuck it all.

The only difference is that she wants to lose herself in drugs and I want to lose myself in skin.

But obsession is obsession. To each his own.

Anna mews next to me like a baby kitten and snuggles closer, her knee rubbing my thigh. And, oh, bugger me . . . her hand lands on my lower stomach. Just a few inches south, and I would be a happy man.

I look over at the Sword of Righteousness hilt lying on the bedside table. It’s mocking me, I swear. I know it keeps her safe, but I kind of hate that thing. I feel like it knows what I’m thinking, all the things I’d like to do to its sweet Anna.

Things I daresay she’s not ready for.

The hilt doesn’t seem to give a shite that I love her. It only sees that I’m a greedy bastard who wants every bit of Anna for myself. I want to savor each moment she looks at me and sees past the lust in my eyes—sees the boy I once was, and the man who now desperately needs her.