“Would you like some?” he asked me.

I hesitated, even as my tongue darted out to slide across my lips. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a very good idea.” Under the table, his leg brushed against mine, causing me to jump a little in my seat. “You’re way too tense.” He poured a drop into each of our drinks. “Here, we’ll do it together.”

“How can I refuse an offer like that?”

We lifted our glasses and drank. The Nectar danced across the pineapple flavor, enhancing it. Making it richer, sweeter. The hot river of magic poured down my throat, setting off a cascade reaction, a dozen tiny explosions of ecstasy. My muscles, tense from a day of fighting monsters and hiking through ruins, grew liquid. I hadn’t felt this relaxed since, well, the last time I’d had Nectar. The spa trip with Ivy last month, while fun, couldn’t even compete with this.

I gazed across the table at Nero. A pale ethereal light glowed around him, that soft angelic halo contrasting with the wicked fire burning in his eyes. My gaze slid across the smooth fabric of his shirt. There wasn’t a single wrinkle—or a single bead of sweat—on it. It was perfectly pristine, as though it had been ironed onto him. Or melted on. I wondered if he was as hot as I was—or if angels even sweat.

“You are making this all too easy, Pandora.”

“Making what too easy?”

He leaned in, the hard muscles of his chest shifting against his shirt. “Seducing you.”

He captured my lips with his mouth. His kiss was slow, searing—and ruthlessly erotic.

“Would you like to skip to dessert?” His words fell against my jaw, dipping to my throat.

Did he even have to ask? A hard, base hunger had taken root deep inside of me. If we didn’t get out of here now, I was going to do something that broke every rule in the Legion’s decorum rulebook.

“Yes,” I said. My top felt like a straightjacket against my swelling breasts.

His smile was pure sin, the retreating whisper of his final kiss an unspoken promise of dark delights. “We’re ready to order dessert.”

I blinked, my mind unable to process his words. I looked up to find our ever-attentive waiter standing beside our table. Oh, that dessert.

“What would you like?” Nero asked me casually.

“I…”

“Do you need a moment?”

He was right. He really didn’t want me to gain the power to set things—and wicked angels—on fire.

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie.”

Arlo looked at Nero.

“Same,” he said.

Arlo bowed and left. Nero continued to stare at me, his eyes alight with mischievous delight.

“You enjoyed that,” I growled at him.

“I will. Dessert is an indulgence but one worth every bite.”

“Not the dessert. Confounding me.”

“I am merely upholding my promise,” he replied calmly, clearly unbothered by the looping mental fantasy of setting his hair on fire that I was broadcasting to him loud and clear. When I gained elemental magic, he was in for trouble. “You wished for us to have dinner someplace public. I get the feeling you’re still not certain you want to be involved with me.”

“I know I want to be with you. It’s the other guy I’m not sure about.”

“What other guy?”

“The angel.”

“I am the angel.”

“Not always.”

He mulled that over for a moment, then said, “If you want to be with me, the ‘other guy’ is part of the package.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“Leda, you want to be an angel. That means spending a lot of time with other angels.”

I smirked at him. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

He leaned in, capturing my lower lip between his teeth. “Careful, Pandora. There’s a fine line between foreplay and insubordination.”

His fangs broke the surface of my lip. A drop of blood rose slowly, pulsing, burning, shooting my senses into overdrive. I was suddenly hyperaware of everything. Every beat of his heart. Of mine. Every whisper, every breath. The thick, rich aroma of his scent caressed my senses, potent and pure. The taste of an angel. Of my angel. I tilted my neck, brushing my hair aside.

Nero’s eyes flickered to my naked throat. “Stop,” he whispered, his voice rough with need.

I smiled. “Stop what?”

I slid my hand down my neck, tracing the line of my pulse throbbing beneath my skin. With my other hand, I reached for his hand, but he withdrew it. I slid my leg against his, and a low, masculine noise buzzed in his throat.

“You are making it exceedingly difficult for me to hold to your conditions of this date,” he said, each word perfectly articulated, as though he were struggling to maintain control.

I arched my brows at him. “What if I were to remove those conditions?”

“Are you?” he asked cautiously.

“What would you do if I said yes?”

“The things I would do to you I cannot speak of here.”

My inner thighs clenched together, shaking, quivering. I swallowed down the rising tide of excruciating lust, and stuck a sassy smile over it. “I never took you for the modest type.”

His voice dropped to a rough, ragged whisper. “Do not challenge me, Pandora. I have no qualms about burning off all your clothes and taking you here and now on this table.” His hand traced up my thigh, teasing the bottom hem of my shorts.